Being Transparent

“Being Transparent: Blogging Honestly and Personally”

This post is not meant to diagnose, treat, or save you from mental illness, if you or someone you love is in danger, please get help. You can text HOME to 741741 to be connected with a crisis counselor. I personally have. You can also call or text 988 for suicide and crisis help.
http://www.cdc.gov/suicide/facts

I never thought how hard it would be to start a blog. I always thought writing about my life would be easy, I am an expert on my own life right? But there is something about being transparent with what you have been through. I don’t yet use voice to text, but maybe I should. It can be hard to explain what is in your head to people in words. Typing them can be very soothing, but it’s also the only way these days I can feel my feelings. Getting them out of my head and onto the computer screen is like taking a weight off my chest and shoulders. Although, it’s scary to tell people what I have been through.

Opening up about what I have been through and talking about it has been a little hard. It’s kind of like reliving it all over again. Remembering times that were particularly hard brings some of those same feelings back. I hope though that these posts someday reach someone. If only one person, to let you know that you are not alone. I have just started blogging about my journey. I have barely gotten my toes wet with all of the content that is stored in my head. At this point in my life I have had seven psychotic breaks/episodes. I have been to four different in patient mental health wards and one out patient mental health program. Again, I am not an expert, but I know a thing or two about: what it feels like to be isolated from your family and friends, what resources they make available to you, the care and compassion of each place, and the process in which intake happens. That being said, I have volunteered to go each time. I have signed away my rights to turn myself over to the mental health care system in order to get said care. Admitting you have a problem is probably the hardest steps I have ever taken. Knowing that I am not safe around the general population, when I am in psychosis is hard. Do I always know I am in psychosis when I am in it? No. It takes my amazing team of family and friends to get there.

I have friends who stay up all night with me, not allowing me to run wild through the streets. I have friends who just spend time with me, laying in the grass on a warm summer day. There are friends I have that take me to the park when I am in psychosis and kept me safe from the stares of others. One friend laughs with me so hard my sides hurt; with her I need not explain a damn thing about myself, she knows me to my core. Some of my friends have brought me home, tucked me into bed, and cuddled with me until I have fallen asleep. A few friends are just there to give me giant bear hugs when I don’t think I deserve them. Other friends just sit with me while I am awaiting intake to a facility, supporting my decisions. I have one friend that is always there to talk to me while I am on the inside of said psych wards, she is my calm in the storm. Another one of my friends never makes me feel crazy at all, instead she says, “whatever you’ve got, I’ve got too”; which makes me feel like less of a freak and more of a human. I met a young friend in group therapy who listens to me and we do weekly check ins together. One of my friends keeps me humble with her dark humor, she embraces the darkness in me. I have a brother that does all he can to keep our family together, a mom who cares for me about me profusely, and sister in laws who have had my back since the very beginning. One in particular who has always gone out of her way to take car of my kids. I have a cousin who always talks things through with me on the phone. There is an aunt that is always there in minutes; another who I know would “kill” for me. My team is large and I haven’t even started “naming” everyone in particular. Even my friends who I don’t see often, they never make me feel like I am wild or untamed, crazy and an invalid. I am never judged harshly by these people, and for that I am forever great full and humbled. My greatest enemy is myself; I have Bipolar 1.

Above all these people is my husband, making me feel like a regular person navigating through life. He is the reason I was brave enough to start blogging about my story. He has supported me and never turned his back; no matter how many times I have tired to push him away in disgust for my own problems. He has been hard on me when I needed to hear it, gentle on me when I am falling apart, and supportive of every positive step I have taken toward bettering my mental health. Has he always been perfect? No. He has been frustrated with my medication changes, doctors who don’t answer the phone calls, crisis lines who say they can’t help me, hospitals who make me feel more crazy than I actually am. The list goes on and on. However, he has never taken his frustrations out on me or our family. He has internalized it, digested it and let it fuel him toward being the best support system for me and our children. He has continued to love and admire me through all of this without ever degrading or belittling me. He is my best friend and I am lucky, even when I do not feel it. Depression, anxiety, mania, OCD, PTSD, and psychosis are hard things to sign up for. Yet my friends and family continue to do it over and over again, even if they don’t understand my illness or how much their support means to me.

A friend recently told me that she is proud of me for saying “I have Bipolar”, instead of stating that “I am Bipolar”. Her statement sent me back a little. Then she explained: by saying you “have” bipolar, you are not making it your whole person, it’s just something you have, not who you are. I think she meant that we all have things. We are all not perfect and the older we get, the more we find out about ourselves. This friend always has a lot going on, but she always makes time for me, even if she doesn’t feel like she does. I don’t know what I would do without these people, the ones who answer the phone when I am heading towards crisis, or just when I feel manic and need to talk to people to feel connected. Do I sound like a selfish narcissist? Maybe, but I can’t worry about what others think (which I struggle with hourly). But could a narcissist care this much about all the people in her life? Would she see others struggles as well and want to help them back whenever possible? I don’t just want to lean on these people, I want to be there for them in ways that they have been there for me. I want to share my story so that somewhere out there, someone doesn’t feel all alone, because despite my amazing care team, I still have days where I can’t get out of bed. I still suffer through the depression. I am just learning to do it in less silence.

If I didn’t mention anyone directly, know that this post is for all of you. My people back in Cali, people I went to school with, my amazing teachers, acquaintances and buddies. Anyone reading this, please know how much you mean to me; we are not alone. I think of you.

-A Manic Monday