Vice President Joe Biden
Patrick Kennedy
My words aren't as powerful nor as well crafted. Nor do I have a name recognized by every household in the country. I use a nom de blog because I have experienced stigma. I fear I could lose my job. I fear I might lose the relative peace and safety I currently feel. A relative peace and safety just discovered in my late 50's.
The most powerful words I've ever spoken were "Please make them stop talking about me!" delivered at my former workplace during my last break, just prior to my most recent suicide attempt, which was followed by my most recent hospitalization. Those words were stigmatizing. No way around that. But I know of at least one person who heard me that day and recognized that I was sick. Not crazy.
Forty years ago I had my first encounter with mental health care. Through all the frustrating years of seeking answers to my questions, seeking ways to eradicate the pain, seeking relief from the never ending ups and downs, I was afraid to speak up. I was afraid of possibly being warehoused in some facility. I was afraid of being ostracized. I was afraid my life would become a shambles. My inability to find answers, to find a way to treat my illness, contributed to my isolation, my pushing away everyone, my chaotic life. Effective treatment and changes to every facet of my existence have given me the potential for a life of peace, a life where I can feel happiness, and a life where I know how to care for myself. That doesn't mean I always do what I need to do. But I know how to do what needs to be done.
I'm grateful that these voices are being heard, but that doesn't mean we need to be silent.
NAMI(National Alliance on Mental Illness) provides me with community, education, peer and professional support, and tools to help me help myself. My peers have added their voices to this website. Stigma disappears when we speak boldly and listen with open minds and hearts.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Breaks
Meds. Psychotic. Faith. Confidence.
They are all tied together for me.
I work crazy hours, mainly because I just can't make myself do the necessary work to receive some public assistance. The stigma is ingrained. Deeply. Genetically. This is my current target. My paternal branch was poor and proud. Don't ask anyone for anything. Don't accept charity from anyone. Survive on your own or fail on your own. Never be a burden to anyone.
Crazy hours have contributed to my failure to take my meds as prescribed. I accept responsibility, but do have to admit that it was easier to comply when each day started and ended at the same time. Or when my shifts did not span two days. I can fix this.
I rent a room. I stay in that room except for the times when I am away working. I'm out briefly to do laundry, but usually choose a time when my roommate/landlady is out of the house. I subsist on junk food because I have yet to become comfortable using the kitchen. Her kitchen. I have privacy behind my door, but I am vulnerable any other place in the house. I even avoid the sunny patio (and the covered patio during typical NW days).
Some of my work situations, coupled with missed meds, have left me vulnerable to having a break. Simply screaming something profane, walking out the door, slamming it loudly, and hiding out until I can find the means to relocate to a place far, far away. That's my history. I understand it now, have tools to help prevent it from re-occurring, and have support if I will ask for it.
My life is small. The debris of good intentions litters my physical environment and my mind. NAMI support group saves me weekly as I hear someone share a story similar to my own.
It's become easier and easier to not attend church. There's a big hole in me. I feel like a stranger there. It has changed so much in the past year. I miss people who used to attend regularly. I especially miss a man who I just can't seem to get out of my mind. It feels like a sad place. I don't have the time, energy, or funds to participate on the same level as when I began attending a few years ago. I feel like the poor relative who people would rather not see. I feel like I no longer belong. I recently attended and found myself sitting alone in the pew. I'm not sure if I can make a joyful noise in that environment.
I am identifying false assumptions and trying to find what is true for me.
***My worth as an individual is not based on my ability to work. I am multi-faceted.
***Most life questions have multiple choice answers. No black and white.
I have had some good moments lately.
***Coming back to my room in the early morning hours shows me the beauty that is often hidden by constant activity. It's nice to be awake when everyone else is asleep.
***I have found a "clearing the cobwebs" spot. A tiny place that overlooks the ocean, seldom used during the hours when I go there. A place to watch my negative thoughts go out with the tide and hope come in the as the tide returns.
***I took a short early morning walk through the neighborhood. I felt good. I can do that again.
***I used Moodscope again. I need to do that each morning as I take my meds.
First comes getting back on schedule with meds, sleep, food, exercise.
And having faith in myself.
They are all tied together for me.
I work crazy hours, mainly because I just can't make myself do the necessary work to receive some public assistance. The stigma is ingrained. Deeply. Genetically. This is my current target. My paternal branch was poor and proud. Don't ask anyone for anything. Don't accept charity from anyone. Survive on your own or fail on your own. Never be a burden to anyone.
Crazy hours have contributed to my failure to take my meds as prescribed. I accept responsibility, but do have to admit that it was easier to comply when each day started and ended at the same time. Or when my shifts did not span two days. I can fix this.
I rent a room. I stay in that room except for the times when I am away working. I'm out briefly to do laundry, but usually choose a time when my roommate/landlady is out of the house. I subsist on junk food because I have yet to become comfortable using the kitchen. Her kitchen. I have privacy behind my door, but I am vulnerable any other place in the house. I even avoid the sunny patio (and the covered patio during typical NW days).
Some of my work situations, coupled with missed meds, have left me vulnerable to having a break. Simply screaming something profane, walking out the door, slamming it loudly, and hiding out until I can find the means to relocate to a place far, far away. That's my history. I understand it now, have tools to help prevent it from re-occurring, and have support if I will ask for it.
My life is small. The debris of good intentions litters my physical environment and my mind. NAMI support group saves me weekly as I hear someone share a story similar to my own.
It's become easier and easier to not attend church. There's a big hole in me. I feel like a stranger there. It has changed so much in the past year. I miss people who used to attend regularly. I especially miss a man who I just can't seem to get out of my mind. It feels like a sad place. I don't have the time, energy, or funds to participate on the same level as when I began attending a few years ago. I feel like the poor relative who people would rather not see. I feel like I no longer belong. I recently attended and found myself sitting alone in the pew. I'm not sure if I can make a joyful noise in that environment.
I am identifying false assumptions and trying to find what is true for me.
***My worth as an individual is not based on my ability to work. I am multi-faceted.
***Most life questions have multiple choice answers. No black and white.
I have had some good moments lately.
***Coming back to my room in the early morning hours shows me the beauty that is often hidden by constant activity. It's nice to be awake when everyone else is asleep.
***I have found a "clearing the cobwebs" spot. A tiny place that overlooks the ocean, seldom used during the hours when I go there. A place to watch my negative thoughts go out with the tide and hope come in the as the tide returns.
***I took a short early morning walk through the neighborhood. I felt good. I can do that again.
***I used Moodscope again. I need to do that each morning as I take my meds.
First comes getting back on schedule with meds, sleep, food, exercise.
And having faith in myself.
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