Mental Health Friday #16

Mental Health Friday #16


Today’s MHF is a continuation of Trae’s journey with Bipolar disorder. Up until now, we’ve seen her deal with her mother passing away, the negative effects of anti-psychotics and her relapse with addiction. We ended last time with Trae getting back her life with her decision to break away from abuse and her then husband.

When I came home from spending the night at my friend’s house the day after I had fought with my then-husband on the phone, it must have been late afternoon, because I sat on the couch and my now ex-husband said I needed my medication. He seemed concerned as though I had been through something although I saw no reason for him to feel that way. It was as though he saw this as solving the problem. He gave me my medication and I took them, not thinking that the dose he was giving me was what was directed on the bottle. One of those medications was Seroquel and he had given me 1200 mg of that along with my other medications. I was only taking 800 a day. My doctor had originally written the prescription out wrong, but I was never to take 1200 mg a day.

I don’t remember much after that. The next day, I woke up and as I sat on the couch trying to focus because I was so groggy, my now ex-husband was pacing back and forth in front of me, screaming obscenities and accusations at me in front of my sons. I could not respond. This was on June 15th of 2012. I don’t remember much of what went on in the house for the next three weeks, possibly due to being overmedicated and the stress level in the house was extremely high.

At some point, I went to my friend who I will call Kay. At the time, she lived in an apartment for sober women. She gave me the number to call and apply for a room of my own in the apartment, which I did. I was accepted, but my room would not be available until July 2nd.

Over the next couple of weeks, I believe my husband continued to give me my medications, but I can not say for sure. If he was, it would explain my foggy memory.

On June 30th 2012, two days before my room would be available, my husband told me he wanted me to leave now. I immediately called my Godmother and went to her house for the night. I spent the next night at another friend’s house and was in my room at the sober women apartment the next day. I did not feel as though I had left a home, I felt free.

It was a very small room, furnished with a bed, a coffee table and a chair. Kay was now my roommate and I confided my feelings about my life to her. She was a good friend.

At this point, I continued to have coffee with John, the man I originally had coffee with on June 13, 2012 and talk to him for hours. He listened without judgment and never offered any opinion on what I told him. He listened, never pushing me in any direction with my thoughts. I told him my entire life story, over and over until I began to hear the words I was saying and realized so much more about the situation I was in. It is true that you never really see how bad things are until you are outside of the situation.

When I moved into my new room at the sober women’s house on July 2, 2012, I was mandated to attend thirty A.A. meetings in thirty days, without exception. It had already begun that people in the program were treating me differently although I did not know why at the time. I felt uncomfortable going to the meetings, in addition to the fact that being forced to go made it difficult with my defiance issues. I have never been in a detox or other facility where I was told what to do. John went to the meetings with me and I now found it very difficult to sit through the hour meeting now that it was mandated as opposed to being my own choice. To be continued

Guest Writer: Trae from ( I’m honored to have Trae participate, help spread mental health awareness and blur out stigma by sharing her story, here on Mental Health Friday. She’d be back in two weeks with a continuation.

If you’d love to contribute and share your story on Mental health Friday, I’ld love to have you. You can contact me on My email address is: . Image credit:

Oh Father-

Oh Father-


A story that she never told;
A burden she roamed with for long;
The yells and the screams,
The screeching of boxes,
A little girl- left what was “home”.

A story that she never told;
Of a young man who drunk himself stone cold;
With a little girl the brute that she bore;
Like a tornado, spiraling-
He always came attacking-
Till he passed out exhausted for words.

But oh father, the past is now gone
If I could turn back the time-
I’m not sure I would leave you-
I would try to restore what you had;
But a 12 year old knows only so much,
I’m sorry I let you destroy your life.

A story that she never told;
Was the reason she cried herself to sleep,
Every night till the sound of the crows;
And they thought she was ill-
And prescribed loads of pills-
But she was just reminiscing her home;
At a time it was filled with,
Voices sounding cheery,
And a father- a hero he was.

A story that she never told;
Unravels itself after a decade of running,
As a letter addressed to her from-
A drunkard who’s passed on,
With a letter in hand meant for,
A little girl who long left her home.
On his way to a meeting,
Getting rid of alcoholism,
He met his end- hit by a truck.

A little girl who long left her home
Smiles at the thought of-
her father getting clean-

For the love of the daughter he had;
And though he’s now gone,
To the place up above,
She forgives him and hopes he’s at peace.
The little girl never could let him go.

image credit. This post is in response to Writing201 poetry assignment: write a poem the form of a ballad using anaphora/ epistrophe as a device. This is also a (sort of) part two to a poem I wrote a long time ago, For The love of a daughter.