JoyforJan dm me about doing a 60 second video about mental health for their Instagram page. I’m overjoyed to have my voice heard again about mental health.
CHECK IT OUT ON INSTAGRAM!!!
JoyforJan dm me about doing a 60 second video about mental health for their Instagram page. I’m overjoyed to have my voice heard again about mental health.
CHECK IT OUT ON INSTAGRAM!!!
I’m proud of you.
I’m proud of you for getting up and going to work this morning with no sleep.
I’m proud of you for functioning with no sleep and being productive.
I’m proud of you for washing and conditioning your hair for the first time in maybe 4 days.
I’m proud of you for brushing your hair and getting that birds nest untangled.
I’m proud of you for washing your face.
I’m proud of you for doing laundry.
I’m proud of you for surviving and knowing that today was a bad day but it will get better.
I’m proud of you for not going back to bad habits.
I’m proud of you for talking it out and not holding it in.
I’m just so fucking proud of how you are handling everything. You are an amazing and strong person.
I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from the dreams last night.
I watched you get tortured over and over again and I couldn’t stop it.
I tried please believe me when I tell you I tried but I could never reach you.
The ground crumbled with every step I took it wouldn’t let me near you.
I watched you drown in the blackness I kept screaming to just hold on a little longer so I could save you but the darkness silenced my cries.
I know you are still in there somewhere stuck in the darkness that surrounds you but listen for my voice. I will guide you back to the light.
I need you to promise me that you won’t give in.
It may take a while but I will find you again. I will hold you until your wounds disappear.
Please be okay. I love you.
(I had a rough night last night with dreams and this is a “poem” to myself reminding me not to go and don’t let my illness win.)
****BIG TRIGGER WARNING****
Suicide is not a topic comfortably discussed by anyone and sometimes not even me. I have tried to die by suicide many times I think I tried to count it up in a previous post but I think adding a number to it will send the wrong message right now. I DID have a ton of different suicide notes, methods, videos, DNR’s that are notarized, funeral plans…. you get the point. It WAS like a really fucked up scrapbook. You get the point of my suicide issues. It is very important to point out that people do not commit suicide they die by suicide. This is suicide from one perspective my case may or may not be like others also understand from this point I will be descriptive in some aspects so again just a trigger warning.
I feel like we should be able to openly discuss our suicide thoughts without the stigma attached that we are suicidal because I am not suicidal but of course I’ve had thoughts they never leave you (or maybe just me) There is always that moment of it would be easier if I wasn’t here. That one moment that thought crosses your mind doesn’t mean you are suicidal nor does it classify as suicidal ideation it is just a thought that crosses your mind like what am I having for dinner. The state it happens and whether you choose to act on it is a completely different thing. I know it sounds like I am normalizing suicide because….I am. If we were completely honest with the thought of not being judged by anyone how open would you be about your suicidal thoughts do you think it would make you feel better? If you could go to a love one and say this is how I am feeling and them not automatically send you to psych. What if you just were able to be open about suicide? I told you about my fucked up scrapbook that I am proud to say has been thrown away now. Does that mean another one will pop up? I don’t know. I know lately I’ve been depressed and the thought of just disappearing sounds great at times then at others its like umm……no. I am in that frame of mind where I am able to differentiate the two, but it is also important in this same aspect that I am able to tell my husband. He also has learned the differences over the years. If we want to have a serious discussion about suicide and my feelings I need him to know that I am talking about it because it is on my mind but not because I want to but because I want this fucking thought out of my head.
You know suicide/mental may not be a topic at a dinner party but neither is politics but people talk about it anyway. What if we hosted parties for people to talk about their mental health? What if instead of discussing who was a better president we talk about antidepressants and suicide? Would that be awkward? I have tried to die by suicide enough times that I would have plenty of stories to tell. We need to be more open about suicide and make it okay for people to come to you for help. What if we actually were able to talk about it without worrying about people getting uncomfortable would it stop you? Would you second guess yourself (there are times when it is so bad that no matter what anyone does it doesn’t help.) would you feel better? We need to talk about suicide and share stories within reason because somewhere in our paths down this mental health hellhole we are stuck in it could help someone else. So lets be open and tell our stories with trigger warnings but we can be the ones who make it okay for someone else to ask for help. So please be the change and let’s make mental health an open ended discussion.
If you or someone you know is suicidal please call the suicide hotline 800-273-8255 or text talk to 741741
Hello psychosis my old friend. You are a pain in the ass and I wish you would go away but you are always nearby. You take many different shapes and forms depending on what is happening but your favorite is The Man. I’ve talked about The Man some he is the one who watches me sleep and even though people don’t think he is real, he is real to me and he is not a kind or a spirit to help guide me on my path like therapist want to tell me. He is what nightmares of made of and even when I’m medicated he is still there maybe not talking to me but he is watching me all the time. He is always there and they keep adjusting medicine hoping it makes a difference but it doesn’t and maybe therapy will help but they always want to say that he is a positive entity if I allow him to be, but he isn’t positive and never will be for you to tell me to look at him and think positive thoughts proves to me you’ve never dealt with something like this before and you are not qualified to do your job. I don’t handle people well that claim they can treat mental health but have 0 clue on what the fuck I am actually talking about again why I don’t like therapist but back to the man. When I get really bad he follows me outside the bedroom and he controls part of my mind. They tell me that these delusions and hallucinations are because of my medicine but it happened without my medicine and it is usually worse without medication. He tells me not to take my medicine and how everyone is trying to control me and I need to break free from everyone he also tells me I don’t need my meds. It’s weird because he looks like Slenderman (he was here before slenderman was a thing.) I don’t understand how anyone could say anything positive about him especially that he is a guide here to help me. He’s hanging around again and as much as I try to avoid him he is getting worse and I can hear him talking to me. I know that skipping time is part of what happens with him and what started out to be 45 minutes a day is more than hour now. Skipping time is the start to usually a very long and self destructing path. We haven’t really dealt with it without me self medicating so I don’t know how or what we are going to do to help combat it.
Marriage is complicated, all relationships are complicated but marriage/relationships with mental health feel impossible. I know I talk about my husband all the time and how wonderful he is but our marriage is hard and our relationship is messy. He has trust issues with me not because I never cheated but because I’ve lied about money, caffeine, medicine, my moods so it makes it hard for him To trust me but it also means he worries all the time. I can’t imagine dealing with me all the time I don’t want to deal with me majority of the time and I have to.
We got in a fight the other night because I had Starbucks double shot energy drinks hidden in a drawer. I lost the will to fight against it and I had two on different days but hid them in the drawer. I hid them because I promised I would do better and not drink energy drinks anymore. I lied about not drinking them and what hurts worse than someone being mad at you is someone being disappointed in you. When someone says they are disappointed in you your heart breaks completely. I couldn’t sleep I kept waking up and wanting to talk it out with him. I wanted to make it all better by everything I said kept making it worse. All I did was dig myself deeper in a hole that I wouldn’t be able to get out of. I just wanted him to forgive me for yet another fuck up and I know everyone will say people make mistakes I just make the same damn one over and over again. He just got to where he could trust me to be responsible again and I did this. I could’ve talked to him and should’ve talked to him about it instead of giving in. Caffeine for me is an addiction no it isn’t as strong as drugs or the benzos but it’s a dangerous habit that can cause horrible consequences. I understand why he is mad and I don’t know how to fix it. I also don’t know how many more fuck ups I have before he says enough is enough. Sometimes I hate this illness so much I wish I could make it go away.
Fuck my life I don’t know how to fix it.
The first time I dealt with death is when my Granddaddy died when I was 6. We found out about his death on the way home from a family vacation from up north. My mom got in the back seat and told my sister and I so we were prepared when we got home. I never got to say good-bye the reason he died was because of a doctor error so it was unexpected (as most deaths are.) I didn’t cry and I wouldn’t look at pictures of him for at least a year. I never went to his funeral and I don’t regret it. My parents got a book about death to help me understand but I didn’t so they got me a dog and his name was Buddy. I loved Buddy so much but then they told me he ran away. (When I got older I found out he was hit by a car and died. My dad buried him on a dirt road somewhere.) I would come home from school and ask about him everyday and nothing. When I cried about from what I was told they think that is when I finally cried for my granddads death. (We don’t tell our daughter that animals ran away we just say they died.) I love you Grandaddy.
Who knew what would happen 2 years later. It was February of 1993 and we are all sleeping when my mom gets a call/knock at the door (I can’t remember which) letting her know my dad was in an accident at work and was at the hospital. He was there all through March. I know my mom tried her best to take care of us and stay with daddy and it wasn’t easy for her. Athens is 45 minutes to an hour away and she was constantly going back and forth. My granny and my grandma helped take care of us while my mom was in Athens with my daddy. I never understood how she did that or why she didn’t just stay home with us until my grandma got sick. On March 25, 1993 my daddy was supposed to come home from the hospital. My mom had one of my friends parents pick us up and they were watching White Men Can’t Jump (I can’t watch that movie to this day.) and she came to drop us off at home. I remember how excited I was when I got out of the car. I ran up the ramp they made on the porch for daddy until he could walk good again and the bed was empty. The hospital bed was empty and even though I knew already my mom told us. He died in surgery due to an air pocket/blood clot I don’t remember which one now. My mom sued the hospital and the doctors which I never understood because no matter what happened it would still never bring him back. I remember when everyone came over to our house bringing food and giving condolences and love to our family. I didn’t go to his funeral either. I thought by not going to their funerals it wouldn’t make it real. I went to a birthday party instead. I love you daddy.
When I was 12 or 13 my nana (my mom’s grandmother) died. She was an alcoholic and not really involved in our lives very much until she moved in next door. We would go over to her house but it was always stuffy and hot, she never really spent much time with us. I don’t have much to say about her because I don’t remember much. When she did die I remember someone telling me they were sorry for her death and I said, “Why you didn’t kill her?” And ” I didn’t know her well anyway.” To think at 12/13 years old I was already so jaded by death that I completely made myself numb. There is a funny kind of morbid joke about my Nana’s death. My grandma brought her back to Canada to spread her ashes and when she got to the border they asked if there was anything she would like to declare and she said, “My mother is in the trunk.” It still makes me laugh.
When I was 15 (yes this keeps going.) my Nanny died. ( my dads grandmother.) I am just numb to everything at this point, it is almost to the point where I don’t even care I was happy to see family we hadn’t seen in awhile. My Nanny was a sweet lady one thing you could always guarantee on a hot July day in Georgia the weather outside was cooler than the weather inside her house. She had cancer on her nose, tongue and somewhere else. I always liked visiting my Nanny she was feisty before she broke her ankle. She drove herself everywhere in her big purple car even in her 70’s. She was always going but then she broke her ankle at church and her age caught up with her. She had the coolest garage and back yard. I loved playing out there with my cousins. I still miss her sometimes. I try to find pictures to show my daughter of her. My sister was closer to her than any of the other great grandchildren.
When I was 17 my granny died (Dad’s mother) She too was an alcoholic, but I don’t resent her for it anymore. I understand now how easy addiction is and how you would rather numb the thing that is hurting you instead of dealing with it. When she was really sick in the hospital I was at summer camp and I remember calling home and no one answering and then calling my moms work and being told she wasn’t there and I knew something was wrong. We came back from summer camp early and I got to see her one time again before she died. Her funeral was the first one I ever went to. I saw her in the casket and then remember why I didn’t want to go to funerals. I was never completely sad about her death because she did drink herself to it. Whenever I hear the song “Whiskey Lullaby” I think of her. She was a good person other than her drinking and I know that more so as an adult. It is sad how it takes all of that to realize the truth about people in your family. I knew that for her I was hard to look at because I look liked my daddy (and acted like him sometimes). I always said I was the forgotten grandchild. (This is when we cringe.) My sister was the oldest grandchild, my cousin who is 3 mere months younger than me was the first grandson and my youngest cousin was the baby and I was just in the middle somewhere. My husband came to her funeral wearing a suit he borrowed from his uncle. I remember my sister had these amazing things to say about her and while they were true that wasn’t how I remembered her, she was an alcoholic who was embarrassing to go out with in public, always had a screwdriver in a Gatorade bottle, almost completely burned cigarettes because she was drunk, falling in the fire, a nuisance and then a bit of hatred because I never understood why we weren’t enough to keep her from drinking. I wonder if she knew how much I disliked her at the time how ashamed of her I was. I feel horrible about it now. I know she can hear me when I tell her I am sorry for resenting her so much and I knew why she drank so much and I wish I understood more when you were alive to help you. I love you Granny.
Now lets fast forward to 2017 and I am 33 years old. We got a bit of a break in the middle of death when my grandma was sick. She’d been sick for awhile but she was a tough woman and survived a stroke, heart bypass, drs that sucked she was a fighter, but I remember when my mom called me crying saying they had to intubate her and I called my sister and rushed up to the hospital. This is when I learned how hard it was for my mom when my dad was sick. I called out of work just went on leave and stayed with mama the most I could. I took my meds late came home randomly to shower and see my daughter and my husband but mostly I stayed at the hospital with my mom. I wanted her to go home and do things she needed to do knowing someone was sitting with her. My aunt and uncle from New Hampshire came down and while that was a complete cluster fuck they sent grandma home. I stayed with her and mama to help as much as I could. It wasn’t just because she was my grandmother it was also to help my mom deal with this. She’d taken care of my grandma for many many years by herself. I was there when she took her last breath and then helped my mom and aunt clean her up with the nurse before the funeral home got there. I saw way more than I needed to and that fucked my brain up. I tried to help do everything I could so it was all on one person. I even had a Priest come out and do her last rights before she died. They weren’t practicing Catholics but I felt this would ease everything and I do believe in God so I felt it put everyone at ease. We had her service at the local community center and once the dust settled I couldn’t go back in her house. I just couldn’t and I think it is hard to this day for people to understand. I watched her die in her living room and helped take care of her after she was dead in the room. It really fucked my head up and now 2 years later it still fucks with my head. My daughter has pictures and things of hers that I hide because I can’t deal with it. My daughter knows where to find them and not to show them to me. We still talk to my aunt and uncle in New Hampshire and I am glad my daughter had a chance to meet them, but the whole ordeal is something that is still processing and until I am ready I really don’t want to talk about it too much.
This is the conclusion my brain doesn’t process death well. I have random moments when I bring someone back up and talk about a memory with them, but my husband knows not to push it with me and to let me share when I am comfortable. I tell my daughter stories sometimes and she loves them and one day I hope I will be comfortable enough to share more of them. This almost felt like therapy but again I probably need a therapist.
Mania or manic defined – A manic episode is not a disorder in and of itself, but rather is diagnosed as a part of a condition called bipolar disorder. A manic episode is a mood state characterized by period of at least one week where an elevated, expansive, or unusually irritable mood exists.
Mania/Manic -For some with a grandiose, elated mood, a manic episode is a pleasurable experience. They feel very good about themselves and engage in pleasurable behavior, like spending money or having sex. … For some though, and sometimes within the same manic episode, a person feels extremely irritable with all those around them
Why did you get a vocabulary/psychology lesson? If you aren’t familiar with mania this probably won’t make much sense and if you want to learn more about it for yourself or someone else you must first understand the root from which it exists.
My mania is like a house fire wrapped in a tornado stuck in a hurricane. I am bipolar type 1 which means I am more prone to manic episodes because when I’m holy shit I am up and in my mind I am accomplishing all of these amazing things but in reality I am doing nothing but tearing apart everything around me. I black out when I am manic about 99.73738% of the time and for anyone who thinks this shit is fascinating you obviously never dealt with it before. My blackouts aren’t like oh you passed out and went to sleep, nope they involve breaking any and everything in my path, screaming, swearing, punching doors and walls, trying to stab my husband, begging for and then tearing the house apart to find my medication because when I’m manic I want to be high so I want that Xanax (those damn blue pills.) I am also convinced that Xanax is the cure for everything. My manic looks like an episode of cops (especially if I don’t have my teeth in.) all we need is a double wide in a trailer park. (I grew up in a double wide btw and I also lived in a trailer park until I was 5 (I think I am probably wrong.) also trailer parks aren’t what you think the one we lived in was nice. We always had a lot of kids to play with too. So no shame there.) Mania is scary and they’ve recorded me before because I black out and don’t remember things and every time I want to watch it I want to vomit. It makes me physically sick to see all the damage I cause. There really isn’t much you can do once it happens you are just stuck in that spot until it passes and it doesn’t always last days or week. We have proven this theory on more than one occasion. We call those episodes which rapid cycling. Rapid cycling is a pattern of frequent, distinct episodes in bipolar disorder. In rapid cycling, a person with the disorder experiences four or more episodes of mania or depression in one year. So here is a new term for you. I rapid cycle a lot the longest manic episode I ever had lasted 3 months in you guessed it 2015. I keep telling you that was a shitty year. Most of my rapid cycles in with me lock in the bedroom with the lights off and ceiling fan on you. They wear me out quickly. There is a lot of adrenaline and emotions but when I sleep and wake up I feel better and usually apologize for the damage I’ve done even though some of it is permanent and their are too many scars to fix it. I am hoping to avoid rapid cycles for awhile but if not there will definitely be a post about it.
The biggest thing about having a mental health is having support which comes in many forms and sometimes from people you would never suspect. So no this isn’t me gushing again about how amazing my husband is (we all know he is like a saint.) but my support is large and comes from many places like those of you who read my blog and Instagram. Your words of encouragement mean so much to me and the likes and follows on my account make me smile especially when I am having a rough day. Let’s talk about support:
-My best friend who unfortunately had to go through the shit storm that was 2015 with me even though we hadn’t been friends that long she still stood by me the entire time. I was so nasty and hateful towards her so many times and every time I apologized she said, “I forgive you.” She said it so fast without blinking an eye, there was no thought or hesitation she just forgave me every single time I pushed her away or said hateful things that hurt her. I hated her for awhile and saying it now makes me sick to my stomach. I hated her because she was always happy and understanding. I hated her because I was jealous of the type of friend she was able to be and I could never return it to her. I hated that no matter what she was always there because sometimes I just wanted her to go away. I tried to push her away so many times but she never budged. She would text and message me everyday and I wouldn’t respond she is persistent because she never stopped. I think back now to all the people who would run away but instead she stayed and was able to withstand the tornado I was stuck in.She is a true example of a good Christian and an amazing friend. If you are lucky enough to know her keep her in your life good people like her are hard to find. In case you are reading this I love you. I love you for the amazing person you are, I love you for never giving up on me and for standing beside me through everything for every reason I hated you, I love you for now and I know I’ve told you this many times but I just wanted to say it again.
– Facebook groups- These are a bad idea and after being kicked out of 3 I would advise you to stay far away for them. Older women can be extremely petty more so than younger woman. I was in the first group and became popular/hated because as I will later find out the majority of the women in these group did not have any mental health issues they just wanted to bitch/attention from random strangers on the internet (insert hypocrite with a blog) They also wanted to cause problems where there weren’t any and if any of you are reading this and remember any of the 3 groups I was in you will remember that I told you that you never win if you play dirty and that is why all of you had a fall out you created problems that weren’t there. You also need to not lie about having DID because it is a serious illness and almost impossible to diagnose so to all of those bitches please suck my dick. Just don’t promise it isn’t worth your energy
– Tater- If you are friends with me on Facebook or seen post on Instagram I have a friend I call Tater. Where did Tater come from? I have no idea but it just works so I call her Tater. I’ve only known Tater for almost 2 years but she saved my life and we’ve never met. I live in Georgia and she lives at least 500-600 miles away. We met on one of those Facebook groups (the only good thing to ever come from it.) It was 2017 and I was manic and suicidal. I kept going live on Facebook while I was popping pills and drinking whiskey (that was the smartest thing I ever did.) and on the last one I took a bunch of pills and she called my husband. This woman who at the time new me for a couple of months blew up my husbands messenger, phone and whatever else she could to get in contact with him because I passed out and I don’t know what would’ve happened if no one knew what I did. After that we became twins and instant best friends. We are there for each other in a way that is hard for other people because we share the same illness. It makes our friendship hard at times because two bipolar people can offset the other, but we make it work and just like every relationship I am in with people it is complicated but I love her and hope to meet her one day the person that saved my life.
– Anonymous 2- I have to limit these two because of other privacy reasons but I love both of them. Anonymous 1 was the very first person to read my book. I have a great deal of love and respect for them. They also knew when things were going bad and would deal with me in a different way. They were a security blanket for me and even though they aren’t in the same area anymore we talk all the time and I know if I ever need something they are there. This person saved my life multiple times and also would call bullshit on a few things I did. They are one of the biggest influences in my life and it is amazing how in such a weird circumstance we met and became friends. Anonymous 2 is the same thing. I want to say more but I can’t. Thank you both! I love you more than words can ever express.
I am so blessed to have such a large support system because it is something hard to find. I wouldn’t be where I am without them.
I made a list of every anti psychotic, antidepressant, anxiety, mood stabilizer I could think of and when I hit 20 I just stopped because I know how high the number will get then there is how many different doses of that medication I was on. PLEASE DO NOT MAKE COMMENTS TO PEOPLE ABOUT HOW MUCH MEDICINE THEY TAKE. THERE IS NO SHAME IN TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF. I can remember most of them and I have listed it for you below. My medication process has been horrible. I have gone through 3 different insurance companies and with none for awhile. I do realize that this medication works better with therapy but I don’t like therapy so I just take meds. It may not seem like a lot 20 different prescriptions but really it is, see each one wasn’t a time shot and that was it we went back and forth on dosage over and over again when that one stopped working we weaned off of it onto another one. It is a never ending cycle of figuring out which ones work together and then praying that you don’t build a tolerance for it. Per the FDA I am maxed out on the medication I am currently on so if stuff starts to change I have to go through the process again and I hate weaning myself off of medication especially benzos. The pain of withdrawals to me is like someone slowly pulling off toe nails. Every medicine has a story and a memory those benzodiazepines are going to have the best stories.
If you made it through the medicine history then you know this is just the tip of the iceberg for psychological medications. Every medicine is different depending on the person but this is my “LEGALLY” prescribed medication. I would love to hear you stories too.