Stephanie Says.. Take a walk inside my head

So, as I’ve said, I’ve been diagnosed with
Clinical Depression
Bi Polar Disorder
and 
PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder)

I though I would try and open up my life by giving those of you in Stephanieland the opportunity to ask about my experiences. Thank you for your interest so far.

Keep those questions coming. I would like to be as transparent and helpful as I can.

The first Question that I would like to try and answer is:

What are practical ways to support someone with these diagnoses?

Most of you know some of the answer to this one.
Dishes Washing
Laundry Doing
Vaccum Pushing
Ice Cream Buying
Dinner Cooking
Yard Raking
Fingernail Painting
Hair Combing
Errand Running
Doctor Appointmenting
Waiting Rooming

And as much as you can think of that fits the definition of “things to actually physically do for someone else”

These things, however, are very relative. Unless you know someone VERY well, you may both be uncomfortable having you in their house.
This is where individuality comes in.
This is also where ASKING comes in. Don’t just attack your friend with detergent and a mop. Offer to help clean for an hour or two (remember that day long projects can often be too overwhelming for those who regularly walk through depression, even if those projects are broken down piece by piece). Offer to take your friend for coffee and just catch up. Plan a play date and offer to watch their children for an afternoon.
A little kindness goes a long way. A little kindness helps those of us who are fighting our own minds to feel less alone. A little kindness, believe me, is very much appreciated.
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Mental illness isn’t visible, but it IS an illness. Er, rather they are Illness-es- that have to do with the brain and the functioning thereof. 
And the people who most bear the brunt of our exotic, eclectic, eccentric selves are those who love us most. 
Parents
Spouses
Siblings
Teachers
Employers
Co Workers
Partners

The last suggestion I have of practical ways to support those with mental illnesses is to love on the people whom we love.

My husband, for example, has three friends in particular who care for, pray with, and invest in him. I appreciate them so much. I know that his life could be so different, and in some ways could be so much better, if the majority of his time was not spent tending to and thinking of me. Knowing that he has a strong, loving support system relieves and reassures me. Their presence lessons my own anxiety.

And for that, I will ever be grateful.

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Thank you for your interest in this first question. 
I hope that I was helpful.

Thank you for paying attention to my disclaimers. I am in no way a person who works in either medicine or therapy. I can only relay my own experiences, and, in limited part, the experiences of my husband.

Thank you for reviewing these experiences with me.

Feel free to question further. I have enjoyed thinking this one through.

So, as I’ve said, I’ve been diagnosed with
Clinical Depression
Bi Polar Disorder
and 
PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder)

Thank you for asking Questions. I am honored by your interest and am grateful to those who are trying to understand my journey.

The first Question that I would like to try and answer is:

What are practical ways to support someone with these diagnoses?

Thing That May or May Not Be Helpful–The Warning

Loving someone with a mental illness may remind you of loving a toddler.
Sometimes things are icky.

Some of these may not apply to you AT ALL, but these are the more practical, less emotional things that I can think of, so let’s give it a try, shall we?

Things to do
-Check in
This can be a simple “hi” or “thinking of you” or smiley face or “here is a song you might like” text or message. You don’t have to be fancy. In fact, your mentally ill friend may appreciate the effort expended if you DO attempt something fancy, but, if they are anything like I am, simple works best.

-Rather Than Assuming, Ask
Now I understand that you might be afraid to approach any topic that even TOUCHES on the mentally ill, but it’s okay to ask.

-In Is Better Than Out
I’m not saying that ALL mentally ill people are shy and withdrawn (aren’t those of us with Bi-Polar Disorder supposed to be some kind of party animals?) but sometimes just going from the bed to the shower is literally a hard thing to do.
Don’t be disappointed if plans are cancelled again and again and again. Please don’t take such occasions personally. They are not reflections of the state of your friendship. They are reflections of the strength of your loved one’s fear.
Can you do something like a bedside pizza and catch up? Can you do a video phone conversation complete with silly pictures?
A little patience and understanding can serve to enrich your relationships–even with people who AREN”T mentally ill.
Put your creativity to work! Or turn to Dr. Google. It has suggestions for everything.

-We Stink, Love Us Anyway
Self Harm. In most cases, this is such an incomplete topic and I feel the need to someday flesh it out.
I’m not saying that there aren’t cutters out there. There are and they are just some of the million examples of how people try and exert control in a world that feels like it is pressuring them to death.
For the depressed, however, self harm can take slightly different forms.
Take my house, for example. There are times in which it is cobweb city. This is not because I have a special affinity for such things. This is because I LITERALLY HAVE SO LITTLE SELF ESTEEM THAT I DO NOT FEEL WORTHY TO HAVE NICE THINGS AROUND ME. It’s also a sign of a complete lack of energy, but for some people with depression, the tangled hair, the unclean body, the house that is messy to the point of disbelief can point to an extreme low period in the life of a person with mental illness.
To the frustration of those who love us, this “low period” can last years.
The longest I can remember going without showering (and this means that I was in the same clothes the entire time) is about two weeks. I’ve gone about two months without washing my hair.
Again, sometimes we’re gonna stink.
Please, please love us anyway.

-Listen To Learn
This one is self explanatory. There are people in the world who listen for the pause in order to throw in their own bits of conversational flow.
If you are a person, however, who is interested in continuing a loving relationship with a person who is mentally ill (especially if said person is the slightest bit like myself) DON’T DO THIS. It’s hurtful. And we all want to be kind to others. Well…don’t we?

-Take What You Read With A Grain of Salt
Yes, exercise is helpful.
Yes, diet is good.
Yes, setting goals and breaking them down into smaller, more manageable bits can be a wonderful way to get through life.
BUT
BUT
BUT
Be VERY careful with generalizations.
VERY careful.
The mind can affect the body in strange and wonderful ways. Should your very individual friend be in the middle of a very individual, specific to them episode (depression, panic, traumatic) exercise may NOT be the way to go.

which brings me to part two of this point
-The Second
Everyone is Individual (Or: Be Careful of Generalizations)
A helpful thing to do might be to learn what makes your very individual loved one healed enough to fight the darkness that seems like it is in control.
Some people strive to reach a certain video game level.
Some people put on music and dance.
Some people put on a sad movie and cry.
Some people take to their bed (yes, sleep can be a harmful escape, but it can also be a source of healing).
Some people write or draw.
Some people need others there to talk to.
But everyone is different.

Observe. Listen. Learn.

One problem that all of us (mentally ill or not) have is to dismiss anything outside of our understanding. We can hurt others by insisting that they act in ways that make sense to US while completely ignoring the fact that OUR ways actually do more damage to those we are trying to help than they do good.

I often tell my husband “You don’t have to understand me, you just have to love me.”

Research is good. Education is better. But sometimes a grain of salt is needed when we are striving to walk alongside people who don’t fit into any mold, textbook described or no. And sometimes, we need to bring a whole bucket.

-Appeal to the Senses
Food can be good. One of the things that helps me after a period or two of not eating well (or not eating much at all) is to seek out things that crunch. Something about the snap of an apple or carrot or celery stalk helps me focus on what I’m doing, rather than mindlessly taking in food just to please those who have expressed worry.

Touch can be good. Touch can signal love and acceptance.
My father, for example, gives the BEST hugs. His hugs signify a sense of belonging signaling that even though I am a mess, he loves me anyway.

Heat isn’t really a sense, but it can be good too.
This probably isn’t a real, true verifiable fact, but, if the depressed person is anything like I am, walking through times of self hatred and low self esteem can be cold inducing. I don’t mean A cold, as in “we can put a man on the moon, but we can’t cure the common cold”. I mean cold as in chilly. As in four sweaters in the middle of summer and still shivering. As in not caring what the thermostat says, give me another cover or two, thank you very much.
Hot chocolate. Hot tea. Warm blankets. These signify comfort and concern to someone whose body is giving off the wrong seasonal signals, making them feel very much like an outsider.

You don’t have to talk to care. In fact, the quieter you are, the better it may be, relationship wise.

Actions may speak louder than words sometimes, and to a person who, like me, is mentally ill, actions can sometimes be better trusted. 
Words, unfortunately, can be cheap.

If you aren’t willing to put in the work, maybe it’s better to say nothing at all.

The Final Post For This Question will be on my wall in just a few minutes.

Thank you for your interest.
I would love to answer whatever you can throw at me.

Don’t be shy. I’m pretty wide open.
And if I’m not, I’ll just message you.

I promise.

So, as I’ve said, I’ve been diagnosed with
Clinical Depression
Bi Polar Disorder
and 
PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder)

Thank you for asking Questions. I am honored by your interest and am grateful to those who are trying to understand my journey.

The first Question that I would like to try and answer is:

What are practical ways to support someone with these diagnoses?

As I’ve previously explained, I am much more emotional than I am practical, so these suggestions may not be any help AT ALL, but let’s try anyway, shall we?

-Tip That May Or May Not Help Number One

One Word
BELIEVE

If you are embarking on a plan to walk side by side with someone who has been diagnosed with a mental illness or five, please hear me

I cannot stress enough how important Belief is

I know. I know. There are denominations and sects out there imparting their particular understandings that 
1. Mental illness does not exist
or that
2. Mental illness is a sin
or that 
3. Mental illness can be forced away if one just prays strongly and repeatedly.

Let me be clear. I believe in sin. I believe that some things that we encounter in our lives are BECAUSE of said sin (both our own and that of others).

I believe in prayer. I believe that things happen BECAUSE of prayer and faith and belief and the will of God and the existence of miracles (which I also believe in) and I believe that mental illness CAN be a part of a person’s life one minute and not the next because there is a God (Yes,I believe in Him too) who can and DOES heal the bodies minds and spirits of the people of this world.

I just don’t believe that such healing happens to everyone.

I believe that prayers can and do remain unanswered, at least as answers to prayer apply to those who are doing the praying.

I believe that sometimes the answer is no.

I believe that sometimes people receive a diagnosis informing them that they are and are going to be mentally ill and accept such diagnosis, only to have to fight against the baffled disbelief of the people who claim to love them.

I believe that sometimes people are themselves baffled by a diagnosis only to face the overwhelming emotions and excessive need for reassurance from others. This can lead to more hiding away of feelings, more disinclination to ask for what is needed, more experiencing of self doubt than someone else who is trying to fit a diagnosis into their own new reality would experience.

And I believe that some people take a deep breath or two, gather all the courage they can, let the people around them know about the additions to their mental status only to hear
YOU ARE NOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now hear me:
I understand that first reactions can be initial bursts of shock and disbelief that can affect even close relationships in ways that neither party ever intended.

But I also know that 
YOU ARE NOT
You just want attention
Are you SURE
Now WHAT did your doctor say

and other such utterances can cut.

So if you are a person who HAS doubts about the diagnosis of a friend or loved one, instead of unintentionally attacking or confusing, consider the following alternatives

-Asking how such a diagnosis makes your conversation partner feel (but be prepared to encounter confusion. Even people who have lived with a mental illness diagnosis for years may not have a handle on the emotions such processes may stir up in them)

-Talking to a counselor yourself or asking to sit in on one of your loved one’s sessions (the knowledge a trained professional can bring to such a life journey may just prove to be helpful to both you and the person you love)

-Educate yourself. I have no idea if there are support groups for friends/siblings/parents/partners/spouses of those with PTSD or Bi Polar disorder, but there might be. If so, learning about the experiences other people have with THEIR friends and loved ones might help you understand your own partner. It also might help you figure out just WHAT all the confusing letters associated with the mentally ill actually stand for. (For example, you may be wondering just what OCD IS anyway.)

And try to remember something that my counselor told me after I had expressed sadness that the people around me would greet the retelling of my memories with much doubt and the information that they as a group did not recollect things to have been those experiences at all.

“Just because other people can’t remember, doesn’t mean they didn’t happen. The feelings are real.”

So, as I’ve said, I’ve been diagnosed with
Clinical Depression
Bi Polar Disorder
and 
PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder)

Thank you for asking Questions. I am honored by your interest and am grateful to those who are trying to understand my journey.

The first Question that I would like to try and answer is

What are practical ways to support someone with these diagnoses?

As I’ve previously explained, I am much more emotional than I am practical, so these suggestions may not be any help AT ALL, but let’s try and help, shall we?

—Thing One—

MAKE SURE and search your mind, heart, soul, time, compassion, stamina, finances, future, liver, spleen, stomach and everything else that is a part of you before you even ATTEMPT to enter a long term relationship (and yes, I am including friendship in this category) with someone who is mentally ill, especially someone who has a diagnosis that they will be living with untold years in the future.

(Interruption here: As I understand it, there is a type of depression that is “circumstantial”. This type can be 
triggered by a move, a job loss and other things that people tend to refer to as “temporary”. I have read and heard that “circumstantial” depression is something that can be walked through in time. Therefore, the opinions that I am providing in —Thing One— do not apply to people with this particular diagnosis…as I understand it. Thank you.)

Loving someone (in whatever form love that love takes) with Depression, Bi Polar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome and/or any number of diagnoses, disorders and syndromes can be rough.

-It takes time…and work
If you are attempting to reach someone who, like me, has been diagnosed with an illness that directly impacts a person’s ability and/or willingness to leave the house and actually interact with others, please be aware that you are probably going to be engaging in some sort of yo-yo process.
If the person with whom you are attempting to form a relationship thinks like I do, he or she may prefer to remain at home not only because of the possibility of being hurt or misunderstood by those in the “outside world” but also because he or she has convinced themselves that they are protecting the outside world from THEM. Low self esteem is a HUGE issue in the lives of those with many forms of depression and the very real fear of negatively impacting social gatherings (of all types) with abnormality and misunderstandings often keeps people who are depressed at home.
The fact that many in the throes of a depressive episode don’t wash their faces, brush their teeth or attempt to do ANYTHING with their hair also factors into such reluctance.

-It takes patience
Loving someone with a mental illness can be, or so I’ve been told, a bit like babysitting a toddler.
Tears are easily shed.
Stories are rehashed.
Beds are often taken to.
And certain words and phrases are repeated ever and often.
There can be, again this is based on what I’ve been told, a certain childishness in the mentally ill people whom you encounter. This childishness will become more and more evident the more and more that you get to know them.
Unintentional egotism, for example, is one of the things you may notice about those whom you observe. This is NOT, as the dictionary suggests, because of “an undue sense of self importance”. It IS, in my experience because of an overly active lack of self esteem leading to a constant need (real OR perceived) for assurance.

-It takes perseverance and sacrifice
Fully loving someone who is mentally ill (again, I am referring to love in whatever form that it may manifest itself in your particular relationship or ships) is a long term proposition. Emphasis on the word long.
It will require (as, indeed, many loving relationships do) sacrifices of your time. Of your energy. It will bleed into your priorities. It will cut short your sleep.
Some mentally ill people keep what I refer to as “vampire hours”. We are abed during the day and awake (or, sometimes, what passes for awake) at night.
To really bond with someone who might be living this way, you might find yourself needing to stay awake at night as well. 
See, if you are seeking to build a relationship with someone who exhibits the traits that I do, you might begin to notice that they can talk about relatively inconsequential things for hours (literally HOURS) before enough trust is built up to strip away the protections surrounding their wounds and scars and fully open themselves to your scrutiny.
Fear has a lot to do with this of course and, should you attempt to forge this kind of bond, BE VERY CAREFUL not to either say something that implies rushing the conversation along or to cut off communication just as the person with whom you are talking is taking the leap into trust.

You are, of course, under no obligation to form such relationships.

You may be one of the people in the life of someone who is mentally ill who drops in with an offer of help and becomes a story about the kindness of near strangers in this crazy world.

If you DO, however, chose to display such love, be very very VERY careful about walking away.

Should they be the slightest bit like me, mentally ill people are acutely aware of the imbalance that put out into their circles.

We live for messages, yet, due to being overwhelmed by too many feelings or too much stimuli, do not reply to the ones that WE are sent for days.

We “pre-worry” about how events might unfold and, despite knowing how to rehearse every possible combination of conversations and scenarios which we might encounter, end up backing out for the night. We do this over and over, often to the risk to our personal reputation.
Sometimes we ARE lazy and unreliable. Sometimes, we are just jerky jerks from Jerksylvania.
Sometimes, we’re trying to protect ourselves from pain and panic.
Sometimes, we’re trying to protect the people we love from our own selves.
And sometimes, we’re just afraid.

And our biggest fear is often that of being left.
We (again, I am referring to people who are walking through the same diagnoses as I am and who have similar enough experiences to mine to feel emotions close enough to my own for this to apply–please keep in mind that not every one of us with a mental illness is even remotely the same, even when it comes to the things we feel) tend to form attachments very quickly. To find a “friend” (in quotes here because of the intensity of the relationship, not the insincerity of the person to whom we have been opening ourselves) only to have them stop replying,obviously distance themselves or cut off all contact whatsoever is a nightmare to us.

It is also one of the reasons why many of us are so isolated. Fear can be a very powerful enemy of ours.
The fear of finding a friend and then losing them is one of our biggest.

This is why I have posted this part of my answer.
Again, thank you for your interest.
I am honored to be answering your questions.

So, as I’ve said, I’ve been diagnosed with
Clinical Depression
Bi Polar Disorder
and 
PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder)

Thank you for asking Questions. I am honored by your interest and am grateful to those who are trying to understand my journey.

The first Question that I would like to try and answer is

What are practical ways to support someone with these diagnoses?

Answer
Oh boy. There is a lot to unpack here and I do tend to chase rabbits, so please bear with me.

First of all, please remember that I am one person who has had over forty years of experiences that are unique to her and no one else. My thoughts, my passions, my education, my prejudices, my preferences, my loves, my relationships and all kinds of “my” things are going to be different than anyone else.

You may meet someone else who is Clinically Depressed.
You may meet someone who has Bi Polar Disorder.
You may meet somebody who has been diagnosed with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).
You may meet someone who, like me, is doing their best to live with all three.

That person will not be me. They will not call chocolate their boyfriend. They will not cry at every Hallmark commercial ever made. They won’t carry a book with them every where they go because, well…doesn’t EVERYONE need some kind of security blanket?

And they CERTAINLY won’t be a person who does the London Tipton clap every time they feel proud of themselves…or, if they do, they won’t be the type to announce this peculiarity on social media.

Do you understand the point I’m trying to make?

I am more than willing to discuss my experiences (in fact, I’d PREFER to discuss them than to be speculated about). I can and will offer tips.

I cannot, however, make the experience of caring for someone with these mental illnesses a uniform one.

One size, in this case, does NOT fit all.

My hope, however, is that what I am going to post next does help some of you.

Because doesn’t everybody need that really?

Even if it’s just every now and then?

So, as I’ve said, I’ve been diagnosed with
Clinical Depression
Bi Polar Disorder
and 
PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder)

Thanks For Your Interest, Part One

I’m mulling over some possible blog entries, so I decided to ask you for help. Several of you asked questions, the answers to which I may incorporate into future entries. Tonight, however, I am honored by your interest and hope share some of my experiences over the past two to three years in the hopes that we can uncover some things together.

The first thing that I would like to say is that I am by no means an expert. I have read some articles, browsed some message boards, questioned my nurse and therapist and conversed with others about how THEY feel following THEIR diagnoses, but there is a whole heap of a lot that I still don’t (and probably never WILL) understand.

Hence, the following disclaimer:

I am only one person. I have three different diagnoses, but I am not in any way claiming that MY thoughts, feelings and actions are identical to the thoughts, feelings and actions of ANYONE else, even if others have come to the same conclusions about that someone else as they have of me.

Also, I still don’t know a lot. I’m learning things (such as that, just as “depression” is an umbrella term, so too is the phrase “bi polar”) but I don’t yet understand much of what I’m beginning to figure out. I am, for example, not clear on my own PTSD AT ALL, but I am learning.

All this to say, PLEASE don’t take what is written here as any type of Gospel, because it’s not.

I’m just telling my story. It may be SIMILAR to that of someone else, but it cannot and will not ever be the same.

Before I begin, I’d like to take a moment to repeat a few things my caregivers have taught me over the years.

The first is simply this: To not be afraid of the word “trauma”. “It simply means that something bad happened to you. And it did.”
Those of us who watch medical shows may picture “trauma” as involving protruding bones, bloody sheets and open wounds.
My counselors are helping me see that trauma DOES involve a wounding, but it is one that CAN BE walked through.

The second thing I’d like to repeat is the phrase “you’re still you”.
I have spent hours trying to figure out if, since my brain is broken, anything that I want, anything that I say and/or any idea that I have can be trusted. I guess I’ve been thinking of being bi polar as something akin to being possessed. By this, I mean the kind of possession that you might see in a horror movie. I’ve wondered if the bi polar part of me was doing some kind of brain take over and could anything I did anymore truly be called valid.

As it turns out, mental illness CAN cause compulsive or obsessive thoughts that repeat over and over until the person experiencing them feels like he or she HAS to give in to get the awfulness to stop. This is not what I experience. I, if anything, live with a LACK of thinking. I’m excitable and emotional and there is usually not any sort of processing going on before I speak or act.

Action or not, however, the me that jumps up and down and begins spinning in circles when good things happen, who laughs far too long and loud when amused, who has been told that she is just “too…” (nosy, wordy, loud, emotional, just…MUCH) over and over is Me.

My counselor is helping me see that being depressed, or bi polar, or even having been traumatized is not the same as some kind of alien take over. Me being sad. Me being amused. Me being so happy that I clap my hands is still me.

I have messy hair. I have fair skin. I wear glasses and don’t match my socks.
These are some facts about me.

I’m mentally ill.
This is another one.

Thanks for your interest. I look forward to us journeying together.

I really do.

A Message to the Hurting

I may never meet the man who saved my life. My existence had shrunk down so that what I called living was mostly conducted through the Internet. For five months or more I had missed work and church. I slept only when my body could not take anymore of being awake. I ate only when my husband handed me food. What “living” I did consisted of doctor’s offices, chairs in therapy and a nurse who monitored my medication.
I was confused. I was scared. I was alone.

No one called. No one wrote. No one checked in. After about month two, even my Christian community was silent.
I tried reaching out. I asked for love. I asked for help. I asked for friendship. I asked for communion. People lead their own lives. People had their own things going. People were too busy to even slot me in.

My husband tried to shoulder the burden. The more I hurt him, the more guilty I felt. For months, however, he was my everything. When I forgot to eat, he fed me. When yet another person had brushed me off, he told me jokes. I tried. For him, I tried. But inside, I was dying. Inside I felt that I was screaming into a void, bleeding all over the floor with no one to stitch up my heart.

And then came the diagnosis. After years of going from counselor to counselor, Bible study to Bible study, potential friend to potential friend, doctor to doctor…years of sleeping too much or not at all, eating too much or forgetting meals entirely, shunning work and existing only for my bed, I met her.
I didn’t have much hope, really. SOME of my past therapists had tried to fill in my missing puzzle pieces. Most, however, listened to only half of what I said and gave their opinions based on what they heard.

See, I have a hard time speaking. During important conversations, I stammer. I repeat words, I end sentences on questions when they do not need to be, I trail off without ever really making a point. It’s not that I expect everyone to read my mind. It’s just that I somehow cannot make what is flowing so coherently in my head come intelligibly out of my mouth. I’m hard to talk to. I’m hard to understand. Even to the people most trying to love me. As a result, the more frustrated that -they- get, the more I feel that it’s -my- fault. I feel guilty. I feel ashamed. I feel impossible to love.
For years, therefore, I had searched for an answer. A key. A talisman. A magic word that would unlock the me inside. Someone brave. Someone strong. Someone who was worth something. Not the ugly, selfish, worthless mistake that I felt everyone could see. One by one, my therapists gave up on me. Year after year the answers I sought refused to come. I hated Christmas because it represented yet ANOTHER twelve months of shame, of loss, of failure.
“There -is- something wrong with you” my husband agreed while reiterating that we would never have children because of my (at that time unnamed) chronic condition “I just don’t know what”.

I didn’t know what either. I couldn’t explain WHY my mind was a battlefield. I did not know how to verbalize the experience of my body being unable to take any more mental wars and just collapsing inward on itself. I didn’t know WHY the Bible verses I have been able to quote since grade school and the hymns that I learned before I could really talk weren’t enough. I questioned my faith. I questioned my existence. I questioned my sanity. I felt ugly. I felt unwanted. I felt useless. Most of all, I felt guilty. I would sleep for fourteen, fifteen, twenty hours at a time while my husband was at work. I felt guilty. I felt selfish. I didn’t understand why he didn’t just put me aside. Surely, I reasoned, his life would be better off without me.

And then we met her. This counselor HASN”T given up on me. This counselor hugs. This counselor listens. This counselor cares.
This counselor gave me a word.

The war in my soul? The battle in my head? The division in my heart?
It has a name.

Bipolar.

Bipolar.

The connections in my brain don’t work like the connections in the brains of my friends and families do.

Clinical Depression goes along with it.
Thus the lack of food and over reliance on sleeping.

And PTSD
PTSD, the cherry on this particular sundae.

I had answers.
I had explanations.
I just didn’t know what to do with them.

I can be creative.
I can be kind.
I can love music and books and rainbows and sunsets and all kinds of beautiful things.
But I can also be hurt.
I can be afraid.
My mind can turn against itself.
I can be compelled over and over again to finish THIS task or the items on THAT list before I am able to rest.

Sometimes sleep takes over.
Sometimes it doesn’t.
Sometimes I get up from my bed because the thoughts are too much and all I can do is turn on the music or put the TV on low or play a game of solitaire until I can sleep again.
Just for a moment.
Until the circle comes round once more.

The diagnosis helped.
My condition informs a lot of my personality.
I’m seeing answers every day.

The diagnosis helped.
Until it didn’t.

The first course of treatment they put me on worked for two days.
I woke up feeling bad.
Before we could even get into the car to go to the hospital, my body began taking over. Involuntary, the movement of my limbs were. Unasked for were the noises coming out of my mouth.
Time in the hospital.
Allergic reaction.
Scary.
And back to square one.

While seeking something that WOULD’NT make me twitch and jerk and vocalize, the reality hit me.
I WILL BE LIKE THIS FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE.
I will never NOT be bipolar.
I cannot wish it away.
I cannot take a magical pill, turn a magical key, speak a magical word.

Get a second opinion.
Just have faith.
Cling to what you know about Christ and His kingdom.
Such was the advice of those around me.
And, of course, my favorite.
Just don’t be depressed.

Okay.
Okay.

I just won’t.
I just won’t have curly hair.
I just won’t have color changing eyes.
I just won’t burn in the sun.
Thanks for the advice, lady.
I just won’t be depressed.
Why didn’t I think of that?

This is me
Forever.
And it got to me.
It got to me bad one morning.
See, I stay up until three or four or seven a lot of times.

I keep vampire hours.
No one is around at three.
No one is around at four.
People don’t have time at seven.
People are busy.
People need sleep.
People don’t have time for me
or any of my stuff.

I’m alone at three.
I’m alone at four.
I’m alone at seven
because by then
my husband is off to the office
which I rarely see anymore

And that night I was alone.
No children, he had said.
Just call on Jesus, people advised.
Backs turned, my community demonstrated.

And the online group I had joined discussed pain
and cancers
and not being able to breathe
and dislocated knees
and popping joints
and systems that shut down
when they themselves stood up
They were kind
But they didn’t fight my battle
They dealt primarily with the body
I was fighting my mind

It was three in the morning
I had no where to go
I had tried

After I sleep, was the answer
When I’m less busy, I was told
We’ll catch up someday, people said
Go to bed
Go to bed
It will all be better in the morning
Three o’clock WAS the morning
It wasn’t any better

Ugly
Useless
Smelly from no showers
Exhausted from no rest
Isolated from myself
Hurting my husband
Pierced by shattered dreams
I would never truly be a wife
Or a mother
Or brave
Or strong
Or beautiful
Or really
Anything at all

It hurt
Knowing that all I was doing was hurting the people I loved
Knowing that the people I loved didn’t love me
Knowing
Knowing
That everyone would be better off
I made plans
I HAD been making plans
I didn’t intend to be here in the morning
And then he came

My world was online, remember
There was no one to talk to at three in the morning

Everyone was asleep
Everyone wanted ME to be asleep
I wasn’t asleep
I was alone
Abandoned
Afraid

But he said hi
He was in my group
And he said hi
And I said hi
And he asked me what was wrong
We had never met
We WILL never meet
But he saved my life

See, my world is dramatic
My world is emotional
My world loves soap opera antics and overly exaggerated gasps and high pitched screams
My world is selfish
My world says things like
But you have to stay for ME
and
Oh no, you really don’t want to do THAT
or
You don’t really mean it, you are always trying to get attention

My world piles on the guilt
And selfishness
And shame
My world interrupts
My world is impatient
My world doesn’t listen
But he?

He did.
Without theatrics
Without melodrama
Without emotion
He listened
(well, he read)

He didn’t give me fake sympathy
He didn’t hand out guilt
He didn’t even say no
What he said was wait

Calmly
Quietly

He told me to wait
Tomorrow isn’t here yet, he said
Stick around
It might be better

And I did
I didn’t kill myself that night

I was there
When the clock struck four
And six
And seven

It’s not easy
I still forget to eat
And take to my bed
I still cry when my mind sends out its soldiers

More often than not
I am still awake at three in the morning

More often than not

While the world sleeps

I am alone
I am alone
But I am alive

He’s right you know
I DON’T know what will happen tomorrow
I could win a million dollars
or I could wade through the crappiest day of my life

It’s a mystery
But it’s now MY mystery
MY puzzle
MY riddle to solve

It’s not easy
But it’s now
It’s here
And tomorrow
And tomorrow
And the tomorrow after that
Might just be better than today

And you?
I can’t fight your battle for you
I can’t tell you that there is magic
I can’t tell you to walk in the sun
But I can stay awake

I can be here
With you
I can listen
I can care
I can ask you to stick around
I can be calm
I can be quiet
And I can remind you that you don’t have to go through this alone

Because your tomorrow?
You don’t know
And next week
And the week after that
Might just be better
Might just turn out better
Might just be better
Than your today

True confession: So I’m coming out of my fog enough to start thinking about who I really am and what I really was born to do and/or be. You know, deep in my soul, the me of me, authentic self kind of stuff.

So here is an observation…common to just about everyone, but I’ve been thinking about it….
You know I have all kinds of friends, yes? Thoughtful, contemplate before they speak kinds of friends, funny off the cuff kinds of friends, dynamic very very sure of their opinion kind of friends. And they all care. Very much. They wouldn’t be in Stephanie Land if they didn’t. But sometimes…just sometimes…I wonder about their advice. They care, but do they really care about ME…the me of me…the person I actually am and am becoming? Or do they just have this idea, this image in their heads of what SHOULD happen and don’t take the time to get to know who I am and what I genuinely need. ‘Cause sometimes…sometimes…it seems like if they really knew me, they would know that either (a) their advice, however well meaning, sorta insults and for sure hurts or (b) is just plain…well…idiotic in some cases. It’s like they don’t actually know me at all.

Two: My gratitude for the people who DO listen, who DO let me talk and who know that letting me figure things out for myself (even if they knew said things months earlier and had to keep their mouths shut in order to let me puzzle through) is overflowing and knows no bounds. For those who love me, crazy and all…for those who REALLY love me and don’t use me as some kind of…well who don’t say “This is what you should do” without first extending endless compassion and forgiveness at my many screw ups…who know that I’m a mess and befriend me anyway, you….the world needs more of you. Taking the time to listen, to really listen with your heart is hard…and tedious…and sometimes boring. I’ll never be able to repay you for doing it anyway.

Three: So this “letting people be their authentic selves” thing? Sometimes it’s hard. Way hard. Sometimes I’m tired and what I need (or, rather, what I THINK I need at the moment) bumps up against someone else’s reality and I don’t know whether or not to lay aside whatever is tugging on my heart in order to let the people I’m talking to be who they really are or…well…not every need gets met. Not every person gets to be honestly themselves all the time. But it’s hard. It’s so hard to be ME in a world in which people are so…so…THEM and we bump and twist and turn like puzzle pieces that are never going to fit. And it’s hard to be ME…really really ME right now. Because who I am…who the secret heart of me is yearning to portray…is so…so…not okay. And this world? This place? This place calls for bubbles and butterflies. This place calls for happy hearts. This place wants you to play along. And there aren’t many people in this place interested in seeing into your real, true soul.

And that’s what I’ve been thinking about. That’s what I’ve been mulling over in my stumbling to okay.
I’m sorry the getting there is so hard. I hope that I’m one of the people who show you love when you need it.
Please.
Ask.
I’m not there yet, but I can hold your hand.
If you are bleeding too, please…ask…try…grab on.
You don’t have to do this alone.
You don’t EVER have to do this alone.

You know how sometimes things come into my head and I mull over them, write them, mull over them and rewrite them?
You know how sometimes things come into my head-usually late at night-and I just take off without much self editing?
This is gonna be one of those nights.

Okay, so you know how I do a lot of reading of headlines, but not so much reading of the articles?

You know how I don’t really have strong opinions about much but the things I DO happen to believe I REALLY REALLY BELIEVE and CAN’T be moved?

Yeah.

See, maybe it’s just the main topic on the hearts of the people I follow. Maybe it’s the culture in which I live. Maybe it’s because I’m paying more attention since being diagnosed myself.
Whatever it is, depression accompanied suicide has been on my heart A LOT lately.

And sometimes….sometimes I get bothered.

See, I work in a place where the average age of our customers tends to skew more toward senior citizens than it does toward teens and twenty somethings. And senior citizens, at least THESE senior citizens, aren’t shy about vocalizing their opinions.

And it’s a lot…I mean a LOT of “us” vs “them”

And the “us” side is always good, or moral, or hardworking fighting against the government or the tax man or the terribly messed up young people in today’s world.

It bothers me.
I don’t believe every official to be corrupt.
I don’t believe every law to be unfair.
I don’t believe every choice to be manipulative.
I don’t believe every youth to be egotistical.

And, I’m sure that my customers don’t either.
They don’t think EVERY doctor is a moron.
They don’t think EVERY real estate agent is a problem.

Their words aren’t to be taken literally.
They exaggerate to make a point.

But
I
Still
Get
Bothered.

My world, as you know, currently consists of my husband, my co workers, my online life with occasional pop ins from my parents and brother.

My world, as you know, toggles back and forth between opinionated customers to alarmingly confident friends and acquaintances.
They, too, feel that doctors are idiotic.
They, too, feel that politicians are crooks.
They, too, feel that the upcoming generations are going to hell in a handbasket and getting nowhere fast.

Unlike our customers, however, people on the Internet, rarely, if ever, back down from their certainties.
They KNOW what they know and nothing will change that.

And what they know, at least what they know this month is that they are experts on mental health-especially where mental illness is concerned.

The truth, of course is that no one is an expert on anything. There is always, ALWAYS more to consider, always ALWAYS more to learn.

But the Internet is faceless. The Internet offers no immediate reaction. The Internet doesn’t express anger, nor does it burst into tears.

And so we who live on social media continue to be convinced of our own rightness.
Even if, especially if, someone has been harmed
Even if someone has died.

The truth is, of course, that we can only really bear witness to what we ourselves have felt and seen.
We AREN’T in someone else’s head.

Even the closest among us has secrets that even their loved ones can’t see.
We can’t testify to what we do not KNOW to be true.

But,we try
By God, do we try.

We, with our opinions presented as facts.
With our theories presented as knowledge.

We, the casually cruel and the carelessly dangerous.
We don’t care who we hurt.

As long as we are heard.
We don’t care who we leave bleeding.

The truth is…
well, the truth as far as I have felt it, is…
That more people are bleeding than we would ever suspect.

Almost two years ago, I became mentally ill…

er…let me back up a bit:

Almost two years ago, my mental illness was Recognized and Confirmed
And I was swept into a community of people
That I barely knew existed.

Here’s the thing, ladies and gentlemen
EVERYONE
EVERYONE
EVERYONE
feels alone.

The feeling doesn’t always last.
Some of us find our place.
Some of us chase our dreams.
Some of us discover like minded souls
Who assure us that we aren’t so alone
After all.

But some of us.

Some of us.

Even the most communal of us
Never do.

Here’s the thing that I din’t know
And you, of course, have the right to disagree

But there is some evidence that
loneliness can beget depression
Depression can beget feelings of worthlessness
Worthlessness can beget suicidal thoughts

All of that,
or so I have been told,
CAN ACTUALLY CHANGE YOUR BRAIN

Mentally, yes
But physically too

Mental illness (which Depression is classified as)
Can reshape your brain
This is considered a disability folks

Parts of your brain get smaller
PHYSICALLY SMALLER

It’s a loss
Now, note…loneliness is not, by any means, the only cause of depression. Depression is an umbrella term for several diagnosis, many of which have much in common
INCLUDING SHRINKING YOUR BRAIN

I’m not talking about your mind or soul
Depression CAN AND DOES affect those too. Your ideals can suffer, as can your faith and spirituality.

But, here? Now? I’m talking about something physical. Something you can touch, feel, hold
Something tangible
Something real

Which brings me to point one

Don’t get me wrong
I don’t know WHY people come to harm at their own hands
I am not everyone
I can only speak from my own experiences

I DO know that SOME of the hurt is caused by a reduced ability in rational, realistic thinking.

See, when your mental pathways change, your thoughts do too.
There are people who CAN’T see that they are wanted, needed or loved.

And, as an aside,
These are not JUST the artists, the entertainers, the poets or the dreamers.
There DOES seem to be a correlation between mental illnesses (i.e. loneliness, anxiety, depression, panic attacks and self harm) and creativity but such conditions can be found in ALL segments of the population.

You don’t HAVE to be a teenaged girl to have such thoughts
You don’t HAVE to be a tortured artist
Or an assault victim
Or the only survivor of an accident
Or a caretaker for someone with a severe disability or terminal illness
A veteran
A schizophrenic
A runaway
or any other stereotype
At all

You can be a businessman
A lawyer
A young wife
A bus driver
A single parent
A high school athlete
Heck, all you have to be is HUMAN
for such feelings to break through

One of the problems though,
At least as I see it,
Is the secrecy

As open as we are nowadays about what goes on inside our heads
As creative as we are in our songs and movies and TV shows
We’re still missing the mark

People with depression are often depicted as “crazy”
People with terminal illnesses are often said to explore options to hasten the end of their lives

We’re scary, we mentally ill

At least according to today’s popular entertainment we are
We’re dangerous
We’re irrational
We’re the butt of jokes
We’re holy fools
We’re easy targets
We’re some kind of punchline

we’re either sacred angels
or sub humans
What we are, of course
Is often alone

Quite frankly, being diagnosed as chronically depressive and bi polar shook me
What I knew was what I saw on TV
The highs included dangerous delusions and indiscriminate sex
The lows included too much self loathing and too many pills
And then I found them

Or, rather, they found me
And for almost two years, I’ve been learning
that we’re not people who hear voices
not always, anyway

We’re wives and mothers, husbands and fathers
Students and leaders and children and grown ups
We live and love and learn
But most of us are still scared

See, as enlightened as this century is, there are still stigmas
Heck, it wasn’t too long ago that we were cutting into people’s brains and locking them in institutions for life

And when it all gets to be too much
When it hurts and burns and opens up our scars again and again?

There is help
Um…sort of

There is often
For us, there is often
Collective, societal help
But not personal

For five months I took to my bed this past year
Late nights are the worst
For me, anyway

I’ve been told to suffer in silence
That the rest of the people I love
(and who one would presume loved me)
was more important than my pain
I’ve been told to call a hotline
Only to be unable to connect
The stories of my new friends are even more disappointing

It’s trendy now to say “I’m here”, isn’t it?
It’s not so easy to follow through

See, the stigmas are powerful
The shame is real
And the loneliness is overwhelming
Until we’re sorrowful enough that our very brains turn against us

You know how it’s said that harming one’s self is selfish
That suicide is merely a permanent solution to a temporary problem?

Yeah…thanks a lot faceless confident Internet posters
Thanks a lot senior citizen customers with the many opinions and the little experience
IT”S NOT TRUE
(I mean it IS, but it isn’t)

Here is one of the great mysteries of our time
Those of us who DO ask for help, who are often dragged kicking and screaming to some kind of professional
Those of us who can just FEEL something is wrong
Are often given pills that have SUICIDE as one of the first side effects

The very medicine prescribed to save our lives has been known to kill us

This isn’t the only cause of ending one’s life
of course it isn’t
This is just one example

Talk to us
Get to know us

Some of us ARE in denial
Some of us are questioning
We can feel something wrong, we just don’t know the WHAT yet

Some of us, however
Have been told
Over and over that the people in our lives are willing to help
JUST AS SOON
as the chores are completed
or the sun comes up
or the trip has been taken

We get the message
We see
We can figure out that we’re important
Just not as important as whatever you have going on
At that time

Some of us have counselors who are horrified
Counselors are people too
Some of them stigmatize us just as much as the general population does

Some of us
When asked what it is that we want
Are reminded that NO ONE is indispensable
And ANYONE can be replaced

Some of us are unloved
Unwanted
Unneeded
or just plain abused

But some of us are just scared

Some of us HAVE reached out
only to find no one reaching back

Some of us HAVE taken the pills
The ones designed to help us
Only to find that they make us spin down
Even worse than before

We’re not intentionally selfish

We don’t mean to cause trouble

We’re stigmatized
and secretive
And ashamed

We’re told to hang on
To our families
To our faith
To our dreams

Meanwhile
Our hopes are dying
Our brains are shrinking
And we can LITERALLY SEE NO OTHER WAY OUT

Please
Please

Please normal people

If you’re lucky enough to BE normal
(a term many of us, yes, even people of faith, desperately wish we were)

STOP

Stop with the names
Stop with the stigmatization
Stop with the oh so entertaining depictions of “crazy” and “insane”

We’re not selfish
And if we are
We don’t mean to be

We’re sick

We’re ill

Some of us will keep on being ill
For the rest of our lives

Fighting against our own biology

Our own pills

Our own minds

And then fighting
Against you

So please stop

We need peace
We need faith
We need love and comfort and rest

But we need YOU

And it’s too late
Sometimes it’s too late
For “If only he had reached out”

Chances are he had

Chances are we ARE

If only our thoughts would quiet
If only our hearts would still
If only you,
even you the informed,
Could see

How very hard

We try

You know those quizzes that are going around? My friends and I recently took the “Which Biblical Heroine Are You ?” Quiz. I got Mary (whom I am NOT) and one of my friends got Miriam. We talked last night about her and I said “Oh and I love that she was one of the few people in the Bible mentioned as knowing how to play the tambourine.” My friend thought for a moment and came back with “Okay. I don’t understand. How is that important?”
Well. It’s not. Not really.
I just love little details like that. Three or four words that could be thrown away but that transform people in stories from Abstract Historical Figures into Real Live Flesh and Blood…well…People.

Miriam played the tambourine. Four words. Just a sentence. Yet, I love them. I love the little details.

Peter had a mother in law.
Philip had daughters.
Rhoda got so flustered at seeing Peter having escaped from jail that she slammed the door in his face and left him standing outside.
Jacob is recorded as having kissed his Rachel before he ever talked to her.
Moses put his wife on a donkey and sent her home.
Aaron and Moses were three years apart in age.
Paul had a sister…and a nephew.
David’s complexion was “ruddy”. (this leads to one of my favorite Bob Dunston memories: the day he subbed in one of my Bible classes and told us that people thought that David had red hair. I was like WHAT? Where is THAT in the Bible?)
Moses was crying when he was in his basket.
Paul escaped danger by being let over a city wall…in a basket.
Some of the prophets were fig growers.
Abigail was married to a fool-literally.

I’ll let you know if I can think of more. I’m not talking about things that are mentioned and dwelt on. I’m talking things that are just…tiny little details…little glimpses…I love those. I really do.