Mental Health Friday #32

 

Today’s topic is one close to my heart and I could hardly wait for Friday, to unburden. So, here’s the thing. We all have someone (Atleast most of us do), who is battling with drugs, substance abuse and dependence. We might even be that person, because the truth is, you don’t really know a person until you know a person. And a lot of time, substance abuse doesn’t always come with a label on the forehead.

We, as a society, have tried shaming people who become dependent on substances (in other words, addicted), and how has that helped? Its only pushed them further into the throngs of abuse. Why? Because when you isolate people, loneliness is a hell of a thing, they delve further into their only constant friend- the abused substance.

Drugs have killed our society and shame has buried us alive. And until we find healthier and better ways of dealing with abuse, we are only building houses with glass ceilings. And those ceilings will come crashing eventually.

We’ve tried the whole- insulting, ridiculing, and making fun of those dealing with substance abuse. But name one person that has helped?! Time after time after time, we shame people from wanting to seek help, with our words and our manners.

Mental Health Friday: #1

I was first diagnosed with Early Onset Bipolar Disorder when I was five years old. At that time, my mother did not accept the diagnosis and moved forward with no help. At the age of 23, after I had my first child, I was diagnosed again. I did not accept my diagnosis at that time. At the age of 31, I was once again diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, ADHD and PTSD. I accepted my diagnosis’ and went for treatment.

Through my life, there have been great losses and broken relationships due to the stigma of mental illness. It amazes me when I come to realize how destructive ignorance can be. I wish the people in my life had been educated at least enough to know that mental illness, like any physical illness, is not a choice. It is not a moral issue. It has absolutely nothing to do with values and integrity. Mental illness does not mean less than.

There is so much brilliance hidden in people who are disregarded because of a diagnosis. So much courage, fortitude, loyalty and love. The creativity is endless. Just like anyone else, we are leaders, followers, teachers, friends, sisters and brothers, sons and daughters. We are parents who love our children and children who love our parents. We are human beings.

What I would really like to see, is a way for people to appreciate the value of a person with a mental illness. Just like everyone else, we each have gifts to give the world. Great gifts and it seems such a waste to throw away such assets, based on ignorant assumptions. Over the past fifteen years, I have struggled to accept, understand and become compliant with my diagnosis. Bi-Polar to me is not a bad thing anymore. I know what it means in my life and those around me and I know what I have to do to manage it.

Mental Health Friday #4

 

Have you ever felt like you were at the end of your rope? You just couldn’t take it anymore. You didn’t want to talk to anyone, be around anyone, and even form your brain to think about anyone. All you could think about was the extreme feelings of sadness you felt about yourself and your life. You experienced something that brought you down soooo low, you never thought you would be able to come out of it. Two years ago that was me. With the death of my mother and the ending of my long term relationship; those thoughts ran through my mind every day and night.

Heart racing. Shortness of breath. Tears beginning to well up in my eyes. Body feeling numb…every 3 to 4 hours the cycle happens all over again. I lay there trying to control myself, counting back and forth from 1-50… “1..2..3..4..5…….50…49..48..47..46”, praying that I will soon fall back asleep. Crying my eyes out sometimes because I can’t. When I finally wake up in the morning, the feelings I have are no better. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to get up. This little voice in my head keeps telling me, “It’s not worth it. You’re just. Not. Worth. It.”

The moment when I realized that I believed that “little voice in my head”, is when I knew something was wrong with me. It wasn’t until one horrible day that I was forced to do something about it. The devil saw fit to ease his way in my thoughts and it went downhill from there. As I walked down Alcoa Road one Friday evening, I began to have thoughts that I’ve never had before. I was tired. Tired of crying, tired of hurting, tired of feeling alone. I started really thinking about the most painless way to end this all. Again, I. Was. Tired. My life was no longer important to me and I began to speak so much negativity over myself while devising a plan in my head. In the middle of all of that, I recieved a phone call from one of my sorority sisters. After ignoring the phone call 3 times I finally answered.

“Hello”
“Hey Bridge. What’s going on? Are you ok? I was just calling to check on you.”
“Yes, I’m fine”
“Bridge, you don’t sound fine. Are you ok?”
*hangs up phone*

I turned my phone off and cried my heart out for 15 minutes. Thoughts still pounding at my soul. Called her back and told her, “No. No, I’m not ok.” I ended up telling her everything that happened. All of the thoughts that were running through my head and how I felt inside. She told me to go to the doctor, but I refused. I worked at a psychiatric hospital and no one was about to call me crazy. I wasn’t having it. But after all of her begging and pleading I made an appointment and went to see the therapist and psychiatrist the next day.

Mental Health Friday #21

I never thought I needed help, even during my darkest moments. To me, it was no one else’s business and I could take care of myself as I saw fit. The problem is, when you’re cutting up your body and someone finds out, it soon becomes everyone’s business.

I started feeling depressed and harming myself when I was 10 years old (I’m 22 now) and although I didn’t have any real identification for what I was feeling, I knew it wasn’t something that everyone dealt with. I kept it a secret until I got to high school but as my stress levels rose, so did the frequency of my cutting. It was both a freeing and a damning sensation but I couldn’t get enough of it. I had my reasons, depending on the day. Sometimes it was because I felt completely numb and other times I felt that I needed to be punished for some trivial matter which really wasn’t my fault at all. It was a release of all my anger, frustration, and pain. It gave me something tangible to focus on and to be involved with.

Eventually a friend that I trusted pressured me into admitting what was going on but I figured life would continue on as normal, at least my version of it, and it did… Until the day I got called into the counseling office. I knew immediately what had happened and my worst fear had been confirmed. The school knew about my cutting and called my parents. From that day on it became an even more difficult battle with my depression. My parents didn’t understand, my friends didn’t really understand, and eventually it became too much and I gave into the blackness inside my soul. That’s how I ended up in the hospital the first time.

Once I got out about a week later, it seemed that everyone in school had some sort of theory and the bullying I had previously experienced soon doubled based upon the idea that I was the “crazy” girl. My cutting got even worse, to the point where I tried hurting myself underneath the cafeteria table at lunch time. How desperate… How addicted do you have to be for that? I was in a dangerous place and soon enough, I was admitted to the hospital again for 2 weeks this time. Luckily, I had some friends who stuck by me and that’s what kept me sane and safe once I got back to school where the bullying tripled.

High school was extremely hard for me and I constantly felt as though I was at the bottom of a deep black hole that just kept slowly crumbling down around me, bringing me further and further into darkness. Once I got into college, things improved for a little but I soon stopped going to classes and couldn’t bring myself to care that I was failing. After multiple panic attacks and one really bad cut, I knew I needed to move back home andwork harder on my wellbeing. The feeling of utter hopelessness is something that cannot even be described. I was lucky to have found a therapist I adored and was put into group therapy with two leaders I absolutely loved. My parents took the time to learn more about my conditions and began to understand me more and work with me in more helpful ways.

Recovery hasn’t been easy. It took years for me to have more good days than bad, and I even managed to quit cutting for 2 and ½ years (I did mess up once a couple months ago during a horrible fight with my boyfriend but no one is perfect). It is a battle still. I won’t say that everything is peachy all the time, but I know now that things can be okay and that they can get better. I try to look at the little things because they are always there, you just need to find them. The darkness still hovers around me sometimes and I know that I may fight this for the rest of my life, but I know the good outweighs the bad, now. If I had ended my life when I tried to those times, there is so much I never would have experienced and I always remind myself of that. You can do it too. If I can and many others can make it through, then I know you can too. There is always a reason and there is always hope. You just need to find it.
With hope and love,
Clare

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This week’s story was submitted by Clare of DestroyedRazors.com. She was diagnosed with Major Depression, Panic Disorder, and Generalized Anxiety Disorder while simultaneously fighting an addiction to self-harm. As her tag line says, Her blog is For fighters, survivors, addicts, loners, the hopeless, the hopeful and all those in between.

If you’d love to contribute and share your story on Mental health Friday, I’d love to have you. You can contact me on My email address: mykahani@yahoo.com. Facebook page: Words of a random. Image credit: HealthyPlace.com

Reach out-

Reach out,
For my hands
Lay outstretched,
To welcome yours;
Through setting suns,
And rising dawns,
Through mist filled airs,
And darkness bound.

Reach out,
Old friend,
My ears are perked,
To be filled with sounds,
Of your nightmares,
My drums-
They yearn,
to welcome your sobs,
And pass the message
Through arms outstretched.

Reach out,
To the arms,
You once lifted,
When raging storms,
Depleted my joy.
Old friend,
Who lit up my world,
Once more.
My hands,
Won’t tire of being outstretched.

Reach out,
For you deserve to see,
The sun
And feel it’s light,
In your soul.

 

A very different Post!

“no matter how tough the world becomes, you must never run out of sweetness”- Bernadokath. That said, let’s spread a little love and sweetness to a dear blogger friend and his daughter who is the definition of a fighter. Please give this a read, and spread a little love today

A Dog's Life ... and mine ... and yours!

This is a very different Post from my usual literary meanderings, as it focuses on my daughter Melanie.

She was diagnosed with a brain tumor 10 years ago and, as it was not possible to surgically remove all of it, she has had considerable chemo and radiation treatments.  Sadly, while those treatments have no doubt kept her alive, there are numerous long term side effects which dictate that she cannot perform regular work functions, and is therefore dependent on benefits from her disability provider.

When she is up to it, she uses her time volunteering for a non-profit program that coaches people who are fighting poverty.

Melanie has always been a fighter but, being unable to earn an income, she is struggling to cover her basic living costs.  When I was in N. Vancouver last October, he spirits were quite high, but she was obviously concerned about paying her monthly…

View original post 238 more words

Day 13: I wish I could

I Wish there was more I could do,
Than merely,
Put words in writing,
echoing the same thing,
over and over,
Let the children be children
In a land,
where the river’s turned red,
And the cries, of our young ones
Pierce, the atmosphere-
Pleading for mercy.

And I wish,
my voice held the strength
To impact,
every person with the power
To make, a difference
And bring, the bloodbath
To an end.

And I wish, My heart was
as wide
As the ocean, to absorb
Your pain, so you won’t
Have to carry, this grief
On your own.

How I wish,
There was more I could do,
Than put words in writing.

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prompt: I wish I could (for December Poetry Challenge). So far, this prompt was the most uninspiring one yet for me. My heart goes out to the victims of the current crisis going on in Aleppo (Syria). 

The above image is courtesy of if.LovedThispic.com

Mother, I am depressed-

 

I told my mother I was depressed,
And she said- baby, it’s just the blues,
Just like every song has an ending,
This one would waltz right through.
It’s been three years- I’m still “blue”

I told my father I was depressed,
And watched the tears stream down his cheeks,
With a heart heavy with guilt, I said-
Daddy, I will make it through.
I was depressed, yet the one to show strength.

I told my friends I was depressed,
They said- girl! You just need a man;
How could I handle another human soul,
When I could barely deal with mine.
I was depressed, not in need of a man.

I told my brother I was depressed,
He asked if I was bleeding then?
He’s heard girls can go a tad bit off,
When their time of the month appeared.
I said- I’m not bleeding… He didn’t hear.

Dear God…. I am depressed.

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Day 2: About me. This poem is in response to December poetry challenge. 31 poems in 31 days.

Healing-

She wanted to know,
Why I hid during day;
Where my nightmares took me,
In the solace of dusk;
If the golden rays streaming,
When the morning sun comes;
Puts a damp in the void,
She thought was my world.

She wanted to know,
Of the cracks in my building;
The voices I heard when,
Silence- I befriended;
She wanted to know,
Of the life I am seeking;
The universe I envision,
In my kaleidoscope dreams.

She wanted to know,
Of the holes in my heart,
The blackout in my chapters,
The fairytales, I write;
She wanted to know,
In the hopes she could heal,
But every second with her-
Is all the healing I need.

The above Image is Courtesy of Unicorn.tumblr.com

The saying”everybody needs inspiration” rightly applies to this Random, my muse has gone awol and I haven’t been able to write anything meaningful. I signed up for October Poetry Writing month but their prompts  haven’t titled my writing bone yet. Any tips?

For Those days-

I write for the days-
When nights seem long,
And eyes won’t dry;
When tears fall non stop,
And silence- too loud.

When the sun is ablaze,
But your world remains dark;
When the clouds part ways,
And your Heart breaks apart.

I write for those days-
When loneliness creeps in,
And memories haunt your mind.
When friends are away,
And none present understands.

I hope you find a friend,
A companion in my words;
I pour my heart for those days,
When you need a helping hand,
When your world is falling apart…

The above image used in this post is gotten from keyword-suggestions.com