It All Started At Birth (Ages 12-16) Warning: Potential Trigger

I left the telling of this long story about how I came to experience madness at the age of 12. As I mentioned in the first part of this tale, this was the beginning of my series of trial and error attempts at killing myself. This one would be the first attempt. I used ammonia to try and poison myself after being reprimanded for cursing at the explosion of the soda bottle upon opening it. At the time, I was prepubescent, very emotional, unhappy at school, and had a general sense that something must be wrong with me due to the fact that I reacted to most things with emotion rather than rational thought. A rational person would not have done what I did in reaction to being reprimanded, however, I think it was a result of built up tension and the anxiety that I constantly felt. I was never good enough. I never could seem to reach the bars set for me by both my parents, and the even higher bars I set for myself. I literally set myself up to fail. I didn’t see that at the time, though. However, it is still a very early age to be contemplating suicide, and impulsively carrying the thoughts into reality. That should have been a warning signal to the adults in my world that something was off kilter about how I perceived the world and my reactions to it. It took the Principal of my middle school/junior high school calling a parent-student meeting, and explaining that I was having trouble with school, that I was being bullied, and seemed socially isolated (which I was). So, my first suicide attempt didn’t appear to have set off warning bells in the adult’s brains, but my behavior at school did, and led to my first therapist. 

The first therapist I saw was truly no match for me in every sense of the word “match”. She was a rather large woman who complained constantly that she had to go to Dallas, Texas to purchase clothing as there were no stores in this city that catered to the “plus-size” professional woman. At 12, I saw a logical answer to the having to go to Dallas to buy clothes: Lose weight. Seemed logical to me, so, upon having learned that my parents had seen fit to tell her that I still sucked my thumb (I did up until a few years ago while I slept, but not while I was awake), and her telling me I was too old for that behavior, I told her I would make a deal with her. If she stopped complaining about the shopping issue she had and lost some weight, then I would make a conscious effort to stop sucking my thumb. Seemed reasonable to me, but apparently it was an offensive bargain to her. That was the last time I saw her. That was the last time I saw anyone for about 4 years. Apparently, I was not cut out for therapy, at least at that time in my life. The next 4 years would be integral in shaping who and what I became for the next 20 years, give or take a few on either side.

I found myself at the age of 12 nearing my 13th birthday taking tests to get into a private school. My parents had decided to remove me from the public school system so that I would be more intellectually challenged (I was really bored at school), and so I would not be knocked around by the other kids. I had no idea that I was going to have to learn to swim with sharks. I remember the first day of school at the “new and improved” private school. My father brought my younger sister and myself to school early that morning. I was crying and telling him that I wanted to be taken back to my old school, that I didn’t want to be at this much smaller and “elite” private school.  I think that somehow my instincts were telling me that I was a bad fit for this school; that I had better get back to my old school where the violence was physical and not psychological. I knew how to handle physical violence. I was ill prepared for what these kids could dish out. I somehow just knew that everything about me from the clothes I wore to the music I listened to was about to go under the magnifying glass, and that I would not pass muster. I was right. I did not pass go, and I did not collect $200.00. My clothes were all wrong, where I shopped was all wrong, my hair wasn’t right. and I most definitely listened to the wrong music (I just couldn’t get on the 80’s British New Wave invasion train; I was a rocker, not a whiner).

This was where it started to get really bad. If I thought that what I had endured for the past few years was bad, I was so very, very wrong. I was in the shark pool now, and I did not know how to swim. I was now at the mercy of a bunch of rich kids who thought money could buy everything including people as long as they were worth buying. I was not worth much therefore I had few friends for the first year. It did not help that I left school for three months to travel to Japan to live for a few months. When I left in early January of that year, everything was fine. When I returned to school later that year in the spring, everything was different, and tense. My few friends were not really my friends anymore. Or at least that is how it felt. I had yet to experience what they were really capable of doing to a person. I found that out a couple of months into my freshman year where I became an “Upper” class student (yes, this school was that bad. You didn’t go to high school, you became an “upper” class student, and those below you were “lower”class students. Caste system?). 

When I was 14, I was a “popular” kid for about 2 months of the very beginning of the school year. Then I said the wrong thing to the right person, and everything changed overnight. I had no idea that sharks had a calling tree. Go figure? I went to school the next morning, and I had no friends at all. I started receiving phone calls at random times after school with the voice at the other end wondering why my mother hadn’t had an abortion, why I didn’t just kill myself and put everyone out of their misery, and other choice things. I began to have anxiety attacks whenever the phone rang. Being ignored at school made it even worse. Most people do not consider ignoring a person as a form of psychological warfare, but it is, in fact, a very effective tool that can really make a person question their worth. Thus began the first major depressive episode. I did not talk to people including my parents, I did not eat, I slept all the time, and I had some physical symptom as well.

Eventually, I made friends with a girl who had been a freshman when I was in 8th grade. She had returned to this elitist, preppy hell of a school after something happened in another school. She was in my computer class, and was continually falling asleep in class for a reason I did not know. I just thought it was weird. as it turned out she and I shared musical tastes, and that was enough to start a friendship that lasts to this day. She knew the guy I really liked who worked at the big video and record store back in 1986, when I was much younger and much less “experienced” than I am now (yes, I returned the vinyl recording of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” four times claiming there was a scratch on it just so I could see this long-haired rocker guy…..I had it that bad). She introduced me to him, and I was beside myself. With her I began to hang around a completely different crowd; people who were odd just like me. I met a guy I liked, and we became boyfriend and girlfriend.

Then the worst thing in the world happened. I was at his apartment, and no one else was home. We were fooling around on the couch and somehow found my self on my back with tugging my jeans off. He assaulted me that night. I was just barely 16 and a virgin. Afterwards, he thanked me. how sick is that when you have just raped your girlfriend. I told him that I was a virgin, asked him why he was all bloody, and then I backhanded him so hard his head whipped around. I got home to find my parents waiting for me, however, I think I will stop here and post the next installment soon……

I Wish…..

Silhouette of a woman in a cave looking at her own shadow. The image can be used in philosophy (for example in Allegory of the cave) as well as to show psychological principles (for example Borderline personality disorder). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

that I did not feel so alone while being with someone.

that I could have some support and a partner/significant other/spouse that would take the time to learn about my mental “interestingness” instead of relying on information that he gleaned from two previous relationships: one also had Borderline Personality disorder (I do not), the other promised him that she had it “under control” and that it would not be a problem. How can you make that kind of promise when you have an organic mental illness? I am not them, and they are not me. But, he assumes this vast knowledge and understanding of this sometimes life-threatening illness. He knows jack shit about the ways this disorder can manifest. He doesn’t understand how you can be fine one day and totally freaking out the next. But, that is due to his refusal to learn anything beyond his experience.

that this illness impacted only me. Then I wouldn’t have to risk hurting or disappointing people.

mostly for people to become educated about mental illness and mental health, in general. That way we won’t “scare” the so-called “normals”. I haven’t met any in my lifetime.

also for societal and systemic change of the view of the mentally “ill”. Not every mentally ill person is violent. A few are, but most of us really want to be left to just be. 

to be allowed to be who I am without judgement and conditions and withholding of affection. I do not wish to be labeled mentally ill, and that’s all that I am to other people. I am not a person with a disease. I am the disease. Or that is how some people see it, and it upsets me because I value their opinion. What does it mean to value something anyway? I already know what it means to “devalue” something or some one.

Unfortunately if you are defined by your illness alone, you are already devalued as something imperfect in a world where the pursuit of perfection is the only pursuit worth anything. There’s that “value” concept again. Never have been able to figure out how people assign value to things, objects, other people……

I Am Giving Up….. I Admit Defeat, I Have Failed

English: Angelina Jolie at the Cannes Film festival (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

His last girlfriend was a bipolar as well, but he met her when she was manic and at her most charming. I was neither manic nor depressed when he met me. I was surfing a gentle sine wave. I was riding my bike every day, swimming in the pool for the rest of the afternoon, I had a life that I had carved out for myself with a lot of hard work and introspection. I had friends. Good friends that I now do not have. I do not know if this is the illness biting me in the ass, or if her has me so isolated from every one that people just stopped coming around.

He judges me on a daily basis. Because he is arrogant enough to point out that women/girls in big cities take the time to fix their hair just so, and make their lips look like Angelina Jolie after a collagen injection. I do not want to look like that. I want to look like me, just enhanced. I do not want to look like Mick Jagger. But, he says that is what turns him on (thank you Internet porn for warping my husband.) It didn’t used to be an issue. But, I still continue to be held to standards of female beauty that I just do not agree with. I have achieved a compromise with the all important lip liner. I just have to say that if he expects me to try to turn him on, he needs to bathe more than once a month. Why should I bother trying to be a porno slut if he can’t even keep his hygiene under control? That turns me off, completely.

I have hit the point where I really do not care if I turn him on or not. I am comfortable with the way I look. At the risk  of sounding vain, I am not an unattractive woman. I know for a fact that I am beautiful. Both inside and out. Besides, having sex with him after nearly three months is going to feel like a one night stand. He’ll get up and go sleep on the couch, and I will fall asleep in the bed. It has been this way for months. He just refuses to sleep in the same bed with me. Oh well, benefit for me. I have less back pain than I did before  🙂 I can just feel my self losing faith in what is supposed to be a partnership, and a loving marriage. Granted, I can understand his position. He has inherited my anger and volatile temper along with a whole lot of hurt from life, in general. And, yes, I do lash out at him even though he has nothing to do with past issues, but the Internet Porn is all his doing. That is something he has done all on his own, and it has changed him from the man I used to know. He continues to view it for hours on end even though he knows that it hurts me and that I do not like it.

What happened to quid pro qou? He gives up some of the time he spends with the porn sluts, and keeps his hygiene up, and he might see a change in my attitude. but, as it stands now, nothing is going to change. i cannot change him, I can only change myself. And, he may not like that new self.  I am half inclined to go with my mom today to file divorce papers today. I have rarely admitted defeat before I try to succeed, but this marriage seems hopeless. I am the only one who has to change, I am the only one causing problems between us (ummm, hello, hours on the Internet looking at other naked women, and watching them do anything; that one’s on him.) It just isn’t going to work between us. He is a big city guy stuck in a Southwestern “town” (never mind that there are 750,000 people living here.) I am never going to be able to be what he has decided he likes women to look like. I am who I am, and I am what I am. I have no apologies for that, I do not regret anything that I have done or has transpired to make me who I am. What I think is sad is that none of this had to happen. He could have stopped the porn stuff, and he could have been less adamant that I look like a big city girl. I am not from a big city, and therefore, I do take care with my makeup, but I have never had anyone with such an adamant and unwavering attitude that I must look like the big city women. I am fine with the way I look. Other men seem appreciative. He’s the only one who is dissatisfied with the way I look. And that argument is part of a larger whole of dysfunction in this relationship. it really isn’t about lipliner, it is about appreciation, and he might get what he wants if he would just bathe more often. This whole argument is about two people not wanting to do what it takes to make this work.

I am not the only one who has to change, he has his own issues that he should be working on, not focusing on my mental health issues. He says that I spend all my time thinking about my “illness,” I can guarantee you that he spends far more time on it than I do. Having Bipolar Disorder has just become part of my life; he’s the one who is hung up on it, and mentions nearly every day. And using lip liner is not going to help. As I said before, why should I bother when his basic hygiene is so bad? Why should I turn myself into one of his “fantasy” women if he won’t keep himself clean? I am giving up. I admit defeat. I admit that this failed because I was too defensive, too abrasive, and not enough of a whole lot of other things. I just cannot do this anymore. This argument is about respect, and compassion/appreciation for the other party. I have tried. I have failed.

Rush ~ Closer To The Heart

 

I heard this song today while out running errands and its opening lines really hit me between the eyes. I had never really listened to this particular Rush song though I know all the words, but it occurred to me that the people we elect to represent us as a people really need to get it together, stop with the power trips, stop running around like deranged children, and do the job we elected them to do which is lead, both in reality and by example. Only then can we begin to mend that which is wrong. Anyway, here are the lyrics to this song. Interpret them as you want.

 

Rush ~ “Closer to the Heart” (from their album A Farewell to Kings)

 

And the men who hold high places
Must be the ones who start
To mould a new reality
Closer to the Heart
Closer to the Heart

 

The Blacksmith and the Artist
Reflect it in their art
Forge their creativity
Closer to the Heart
Yeah, it’s closer to the Heart

 

Philosophers and Ploughmen
Each must know his part
To sow a new mentality
Closer to the Heart
Yeah, it’s closer to the Heart

 

You can be the Captain and
I will draw the Chart
Sailing into destiny
Closer to the Heart

 

Closer to the Heart

 

Closer to your heart.

 

Reblog If You Agree With This

Bipolar Moments

It would seem that over the last several weeks, I have been having a series of bipolar moments. My general m.o. when I start to cycle is to want to hide in a cave and stay there until I die. Or, I just want to sleep because how can a person be depressed about anything when they are asleep. I mean, yes, your subconscious mind will find new and interesting things for you to do and places to visit. But, on the upside, sometimes you can see people you haven’t seen in ages. That’s always pretty cool. 

What is not cool is the fact that I am cycling. Which means I am depressed, but with little touches of manic spurts thrown in for good measure (if it doesn’t kill you, it will make you stronger; at least that’s what they say). I hate cycling with a purple passion. I cannot cycle like a “normal” bipolar and be just manic or just depressed. No, I get to be both at once. First you find yourself crying over nothing. And, I do mean NOTHING! There’s no reason to be crying. But, there I am crying like someone just killed my kitten.Then I also get irritated very easily, and everything seems to be standing in work boots on my last nerve. Not a good time to talk to me, or ask me what is wrong because I will tell you. I have a mouth-brain disconnect during these cycles.

My husband is currently not talking to me because he made the mistake of asking me what was wrong this morning. I have held this particular set of feelings back for quite some time now. You can imagine what happened. I didn’t yell, scream, kick my feet or throw a tantrum, but I did explain what was wrong in no uncertain terms. He hasn’t talked to me since. I have no idea why he hasn’t; all I did was explain that I cannot keep asking my mother to pay the rent because I am paying all the utility bills trying to keep us with TV to watch, gas to cook with, you know all those essential “amenities.” I must have said something the wrong way. I guess, it isn’t like it doesn’t happen every single day of my life. And to make things worse, I am a Nichiren Buddhist who believes in the law of Cause and Effect. You make a cause, and the effect will manifest either right away or at a time when you least expect it. So, I must have made a bad cause this morning, because the effect has been silence. Not my fault, he asked.

I have even had a mental health care professional explain to him that while I can manage this illness, I really do not have control of my emotions. He still refuses to read anything that would lead to greater understanding of this illness. He says I put my illness first, then my cats, then he comes in third. I do not know where he got that idea, but yes, in order to remain well, the illness must be dealt with daily. If  I do not keep a vigilant watch over this creature, there will be no relationship, although I do feel vibes from him that maybe he is starting to move in that direction. Won’t be the first. It will hurt more because I love him enough to have married him, and still do.

I do not know where this comes from. I wish the general public and researchers would take mental illness more seriously instead of just saying that we are crazy. Because we are not crazy, we have medically treatable problems that make life more challenging for us, and those around us. I just think that if more people were aware of the effects of the more common mental health issues affecting millions of Americans and people worldwide, there would be more research into the causes of these illnesses. I am not alone in this. I have millions of people who are just like me; having problems at work, with personal relationships, with mood swings, and many other symptoms. I can deal with having trouble in the workforce, I can deal with the mood swings, the irritation, the agitation, but I do not think that I would handle the loss of another relationship very well. There have already been too many.

You just have to love those bipolar moments. They are so not worth the inevitable crash. And, when you do crash, the depression bites in with fangs, and will not let you go. It just shakes you around like a rag doll until you just give in or give up. That’s about where I am headed right now. I can feel it coming just like it has for 20 years.

Not So Sure About This Marriage Counseling Thing

A couple of 14-carat gold wedding rings. Picture taken in Brazil, where 14-carat is the most common kind of gold used in jewelry. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I came out of that counselor’s office so angry the other day, I thought I was going to break something, so I went for a bike ride instead. I can easily see this type of counseling making me relapse. It was so confrontational and stressful that I ended up triggered which is not a good sign. This would be why managing my illnesses is of utmost importance. Especially the bipolar disorder, because if it is going to be like this every time, i am going to end up in the hospital. I do not think that my husband really understands that when he indicates that in order of importance I care first about my illness, then my cats, then him. Of course I am going to care about my illness first. If I do not care about it above all else, I decompensate and become ill.

My becoming ill again is not productive for the relationship. We cannot have a relationship if I do not manage my bipolar first above everything else. And as far as the cats go, I feed them, clean their litter box, make sure they have water, and give them a little attention. That’s not making them more important to me than he is; it is responsible pet ownership. I would really like to know how often he cleans, makes dinner, fixes morning coffee; these are all things I do for him and for myself. I don’t see how his never having anything else to do but play on the computer, and take care of his plants is putting him third. If anything, he comes first then managing my illness. I wish he would take up reading books, then maybe he might have a better idea about how this illness functions. I have even ordered a new one geared toward both the ill person and the family of the ill person. I keep trying and hoping. Hope does spring eternal, unfortunately. We’ll see how this goes. The minute I find my self sliding down the rabbit hole to have tea with the Mad Hatter is the day I quit. Stress is a huge trigger for me, and this is the most stressful thing I have ever done. I don’t know. We’ll see how it goes. I will try to be more open about the process, but that doesn’t mean I am not going to get mad about some stuff.

I Hate Having Bipolar Disorder

Rethink Mental Illness (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I would like another diagnosis, please. I absolutely hate having manic depression. I never know how I am going to feel when I wake up in the morning. Some days I just want to stay in bed for days. I forget to bathe, wash my hair, and the thought of even attempting household chores is overwhelming. I never know when I am going to say something hurtful, or inappropriate given the nature of the situation. I feel as if I overreact to simple problems. Quite frankly, this illness scares me. I never know when an episode, either manic or, more often, depressive is going to occur. I am usually well into the episode before I recognize it for what it is.  

I think too much about how my emotions would go away if I were just able to build up the cowardice to end my life. But, I can’t do that. I have seen firsthand the effects that death by suicide cause in a family. When I was about 25, my then fiance’s sister committed suicide. The family was never the same. Everyone blamed someone else for not recognizing the warning signs. They were all there, mental illness, anorexia, alcoholism. But none the less, her father blamed her mother, her mother secretly blamed herself, her brother blamed both his parents and his dead sister. Everyone felt guilty that they hadn’t been able to stop her, but she had taken all the pills she took in the early morning while she was drunk and everyone was asleep. She said nothing until around noon, and by then it was too late, her mother and I took her to the nearest ER, and she couldn’t walk, stand alone, or function. She could not breathe on her own and was put on a respirator. She died around 8:30 that night when the aspirin she took finally stopped her heart. So, that option is a non-option even with the issues I have had as of late. 

So, yes, I would like a new diagnosis. This bipolar thing does not work for me. It makes me angry that I am set apart from so-called normal people just because my emotions fluctuate differently, and often, irrationally. It makes me sad because I used to be so functional, or so I thought. I probably was just stuck in delusion of efficacy in my life. Now, I have to have structure in my life: sleep at the same time every night, regular feedings, stable people (who can tolerate me). I have to be able to tolerate myself. When I was a teenager, it was much easier, I could chalk the mood swings up to hormonal changes. Now, I have no excuse. I have been labeled mentally ill, and it is up to me to manage my illness.

Being labeled pisses me off too. It is not like am Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde: then I would have a completely different label. Honestly the whole thing about being labeled mentally ill just creates a bunch of misconceptions: you have to walk on eggshells around me (no you don’t, just give it to me straight,  am going to like or dislike what you say regardless of bipolar), everything I do stems from illness (no, it does not. Sometimes I am happy or sad or angry or whatever because that is how I am feeling at the moment), the illness runs my life (no, it does not normally run my life except when I am experiencing an episode). So may misconceptions. They make me angry, sad that people shy away from me, lonely, feeling abandoned, neglected, and truly unwanted.

Having a “mental” illness is so much different than having a “physical” illness like heart disease, or renal failure. For some reason people are less afraid of people suffering with medical problems. But, often, mental illness is medical and lies in a chemical imbalance in the brain. Once the right combinations of medications are found, and the person afflicted has a good therapist, and, in my opinion, a firm grounding in a faith that suits them, symptoms often fade and do not recur as often.

I sincerely believe that the “de-institutionalization” movement that started in the 1960’s has had an extremely deleterious effect on how people with mental illnesses are

The Madhouse (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

treated and viewed by society. Many of those who were completely stable in the rigidly regulated hospital environment were released to promised community mental health clinics. In most cases, these clinics were never built, so many psychotic people or people predisposed to psychosis were released on to the streets of the communities near the hospitals. They were not being treated at community clinics, and the wonder drug, Thorazine, was proving to be less than wonderful. It made the patient sluggish and had horrible side effects. So, people stopped taking it, and within days were psychotic again. Now that they are psychotic, and out of touch with the reality of their illness, are they going to know to seek treatment? No, because to them, their world is reality. So, they remain psychotic. Many state laws makes it impossible to involuntarily commit a mentally ill person, they have the right to refuse treatment. As a result, when many people think of mental illness, they think of the people who are homeless, and walk around having conversations with themselves (or they could be on their bluetooth, it is hard to distinguish these days 🙂 ).

Any way, enough of my ranting and raving over the state of affairs for the mentally ill in this culture. I do that on a regular basis. But it just seems to me that we, as a culture, are afraid of the term “mental illness,” when in fact when properly treated, most people can live productive lives. This is not to say that symptoms can’t  arise, usually as a result of stress, and wreak some havoc. But, for the treated individual, this is far less likely to happen. most people know someone who has a mental illness, and is probably hiding it to avoid the stigma that goes with the label. It is the costume of normalcy that we are forced to wear, and I for one, can’t stand that. I have Manic Depression and that is what I have to deal with daily. I really wish more people would come out of their normalcy suits, and tell the world they have a mental illness, but this is who I really am. I am not my illness. My illness is just one part of me and who I am. Then, stigma would begin to reduce as more and more “normal” people realize they know someone with a mental illness. There are millions of us.

More of Letting Go: Morrie's Reflections on Living While Dying ~ with a scathing and long commentary by songtothesirens on the state of help for mentally ill people in the US

On Acceptance: Morrie writes ~ “Acceptance is not passive-you have to work at it by continually trying to face reality rather than thinking reality is something other than what it is….People with great faith in God or strong spiritual ties may be more accepting of what goes on here and now because they know that this is just a temporary stopping place to the next world, so to speak…..Acceptance is not a talent you either have or don’t have. It’s a learned response……You may not be able to change your medical prognosis, but you can control the destructive emotions that can subvert your mental and physical health.”

Especially true of Bipolars who tend to isolate ~ Morrie on Maintaining an Active Involvement in Life: “Be occupied with or focused on things and issues that are of interest, importance, and concern to you. Remain passionately involved in them…… I tend to think that we do have core self. And that the more you know about who you are, the more actively you can be involved in the world around you……the self means nothing outside the context of community or meaningful contact with other people.” ~ Morrie Schwartz

For example, I have been a passionate and keen diarist since I was 12 years old. Writing is one of my greatest loves, and I have continued to do it for many, many years. It gives me pleasure, and is something I know I can do well.  Starting this blog about a month ago is an example of this; it mixes two of my passions in life ~ writing and destigmatizing mental health issues. I write to live. It allows me to go back and take an objective view of my reaction or response to a situation, and then allows me to re-evaluate what I could have done or said differently, or if, in that particular situation, there really was no other option. In essence, writing takes the emotions, puts them into words on paper or a computer and “removes” them from you so you do not feel them as intensely. This allows you to be a more objective observer of yourself. 

As  person living with Bipolar Disorder, PTSD, and Panic disorder, I have a subjective view of mental illness since I obviously battle my moods everyday even though I am a “treated” Bipolar. Writing about my experiences with these illnesses makes that view objective, and I am able to look at them as part of me, but not the whole of me. I can see where my reaction to something minor may have been out of proportion, I can see when my moods have control of me, and when I have control of my moods.

The Diatribe Against this Countries Healthcare and Social Services Programs:

I am all for speaking out and talking about mental illness because, for some reason unbeknownst to me, it is “scarier” than a lot of physical ailments. I wonder if it is because the “common” view of mental illness is that homeless guy on the street ranting and raving to no one in particular? Or if it is scary because it involves the mind of which doctors and researchers know very little? Maybe, it is because one of people’s biggest fears is the unknown, and there is nothing about humans more unknown than the brain? Maybe, it’s that fear of ending up like Aunt So and So who went “nuts” and killed herself? I do not know, I am speculating. All I do know is there is this irrational fear of mental illness. They say that someone is “touched” (a nice way of saying crazy or nuts), they say he/she is different than everyone else. Maybe that’s it. Maybe it is people’s fear of the unknown and the different. However, you never really can tell (aside from the obvious cases) when a person suffers from mental illness, they could work next to you, and you wouldn’t know it. What is truly needed is open, objective, honest, and  intelligent discussion about mental disorders of all kinds. 

You cannot know anything about which you turn a blind eye the way most people do to the raving homeless man. You do not know his life story. He may have been a CEO who first lost his job, then his home, then his family, and now he’s out on the streets with paranoid schizophrenia. He may have been managing it since he was a teenager (the time when most serious mental ailments first present), but all of his losses combined to be one big trigger that sent him over the edge. He no longer has health insurance, so medication is beyond his reach. He is so lost in his own reality that it is unrealistic that unless someone intervenes on his behalf, his access to Medicare is limited, his access to treatment is non-existent because he doesn’t know where or who he is. How is he going to fill out the forms needed to get on Medicaid/Medicare in order to treat his illness? He cannot very well do it himself. So, he remains scattered on the street, homeless, alone, scared, and sick. 

Has anyone ever thought to talk to a person with an OBVIOUS mental illness; I am not talking about the ones that are easily hidden like treated Bipolar, Borderline Personality Disorder, situational and chronic depression, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, etc. I am talking about the ones that cannot be so easily hidden even when treated like the Schizophrenic spectrum, the Oppositional Defiance Personality disorder, the Anti-Social Personality disorders, the Schizoaffective disorders. The ones that make people seem strange and weird, and sometimes, frightening. A lot of these people want to talk because nobody WILL talk to them, ask them about their day, if there is something they can do for them, or even get them to a state agency where a social worker can serve as a liaison between the sick person and the System. I do mean to spell that with a capital “S.” 

If someone or a group of people were willing to help these people get the care they need by getting them to a person who can help with the Medicaid/Medicare forms, can help them get into shelters rather than having the police round them up on very cold nights. A lot of homeless, mentally ill people will deliberately get arrested during the winter so they will get fed, and a warm place to sleep. That is not right or just. It only takes one person to make a difference in someone’s life. If a person or a group formed for the specific purpose of helping the mentally ill (many are homeless BECAUSE of their illness and lack of treatment) could get the homeless and mentally ill to an agency designed to help people in this condition do the paperwork they need to get treatment, get disability benefits, get food stamps, etc. 

Cities with the help of State and Federal government funds could build housing strictly for the mentally ill, the residents would pay rent in accordance with the amount of their benefits (a sliding scale), there could be caretakers there whose job it is to make sure that people living in these subsidized apartments take their medication, that they use their food stamps (EBT/SNAP program card) for food, and not for illicit street drugs (drug and alcohol abuse are often co-morbid with mental illness), and that those who can function in a menial job (like being a janitor or a custodian at an office building) get jobs, and that they do not kill each other. Mentally ill people, especially schizophrenics and schizoaffectives can be violent even when treated. So can Bipolars if their illness is serious enough, especially during Manic phases when the person may or may not go psychotic from lack of sleep.  Having something meaningful to do, like a job (or writing this blog), does wonders for a person’s outlook about themselves, and tends to make them want to stay on medication, want to maintain their functioning status. Although, with some of these illnesses, people are unaware of what they are like when un-medicated and not functional. People who consistently fail to meet these expectations would be asked to leave.

 I am not creating a Utopia for the mentally ill, here. Residents would have to maintain themselves, and their apartments. There would be inspections. I realize this may be an invasion of privacy, but it happens all the time in the “real” world when a person rents a property.  They would have to stay on medication, see their doctors regularly, pay their rent on time, feed themselves with their benefits, there would be a zero tolerance policy for drug and/or alcohol use unless medicinal marijuana is ordered by a legitimate physician (and if the person with the prescription was found sharing his medicinal marijuana, he/she would be warned that this is the only time they will be warned otherwise back out they go), maintain their work status, if applicable. In other words, do not take too many sick days unless you truly cannot function. I am not a Nazi. Sometimes, and I can attest to this, the meds just do not work for some reason, and your disease jumps up and bites you on the ass, and you have no control over it. So, employers would have to be carefully screened for compassion toward the mentally ill, and to allow for periods of time away from the job for the mentally ill just in case their illness becomes “active.” There could be a list of employers willing to take on the functioning mentally ill; kind of like employers that hire ex-cons so they can fulfill their parole conditions. There is/was a facility like this in Albuquerque, New Mexico about 7 or 8 years ago. I do not know if the program was stopped or not. 

Okay, a quick Google search indicates there are programs out there, but once again, they are State run and require forms to be filled out, documentation to be brought in. Now, I am a high functioning Bipolar, and I have applied for housing assistance before. The packet of stuff to fill out is 10 pages long, and I did not understand half of it (and I have a college degree.) How do they expect that the average mentally ill person is going to be able to cope with that without some help? One of my biggest pet peeves is that the way our government (both State and Federal) appears to be designed to “let” people fall through the cracks, and then still be able to turn around and say, “Well, they could have taken advantage of X,Y, or Z program…” NO, they could not, because some group of not mentally ill people designed the programs to be difficult for even a non-mentally ill person to understand. I do not know how many times I went back to the Housing Authority in Albuquerque because they needed some other documentation of something. I personally think they make it up to annoy people, but imagine if you are mentally ill, and trying to deal with all of this red tape? You’d get lost, agitated, irritated, confused, and this is IF you are being treated. Anyone else who is not under a doctor’s care would be completely stymied by the way the system is set up. It is not “user-friendly” by any stretch of the imagination.

The seriously mentally ill need advocates, people to stand up for them, people to help wad through the muck we have created to be the “Social Services” departments on both State and Federal levels. If a person is lucky, they will be a high functioning ill person like myself who can slog through all the crap on their own; although this is not to say I do it with a smile on my face because even my meds do not make me that happy. But, a seriously ill person is going to need a caretaker, some form of mediator between them and the System. Otherwise, they will become one of the millions who cannot get what this country has set up to help them. 

The reason I say that it is time for open, objective, honest, and intelligent conversation in this country regarding mental illness is that first of all, many people suffer from some form of mental illness on a scale of severity, secondly, our programs designed to help the mentally ill or disabled are impossible to understand or access (unless you are an attorney or a politician), thirdly, there is such a stigma surrounding mental illness that nobody wants to talk about it like they are afraid its contagious (I assure you, it is not), fourth, the whole benefits system for the mentally ill and/or disabled needs to be completely dismantled and redone. I mean, people with debilitating illnesses unable to get social security benefits without an attorney, or being denied the first couple of times you apply. That is just, pardon my french, fucked up. Obviously, they need the benefits or they would not have applied (HELLO), they have provided adequate documentation for the benefits, and they are DENIED! Oh that just pisses me off! That’s what the Social Security Disability Insurance and Supplemental Income programs were set up for. People with disabilities that prevent them from working. Believe me, a lot of us are incredibly bored and sad because we can remember working, and feeling productive. We do not really want to be on disability. 

The name really says it all: disability. Take a minute and think about what that word means to you….. to me it means incapable, unintelligent (many, many mentally ill people are highly intelligent), unable to do something, not productive, non functional. Do you see how even someone who is mentally ill herself can come up with labels to define the mentally ill?  Now imagine that spread out to the people who are not mentally ill, and lack the compassion and empathy to even try to understand what it means to be mentally ill….. I can think of one person right now off the top of head who thinks they understand but they have such a poor understanding of what it is like and how tiring it is to try to be “normal.” I have loaned this person a book, one of the best called An Unquiet Mind: a Memoir of Moods and Madness written by a psychiatrist with Manic Depression who works at John’s Hopkins. I wanted him to see firsthand what it is like to be Bipolar, and able to function at a very high level. I do not know why I am disappointed. I never really expected them to read it anyway. When I came home from the hospital about a month ago, I brought him material on Manic Depression and Depression from the NIMH, and I do not know where that ended up. I didn’t really expect them to read that either. I do not know why I expect anything from this person. it’s like clapping with one hand; all it does is stir up the air a bit. I do not know why I expect them to read anything related to learning about my multiple diagnoses. It is like if they do, then it becomes more real, and they can no longer blame all of my behavior on my illnesses. They have to blame me sometimes. Because I have learned one thing about being mentally ill: IT DOES NOT DEFINE WHO YOU ARE!!!! You are you, your illness just makes you “mentally interesting.” Saw that on the web the other day, and really liked the description  🙂 

The medication helps, but I have deliberately kept the doses right at therapeutic so I don’t feel over medicated like I was for a long time, and like many people still are because they have not learned how to stand up for themselves yet. It is vital that you advocate for yourself. If you can’t, find someone who can, a friend, parent, someone!

So, that’s my diatribe for the day. People, get over yourselves, the mentally ill are just like you and everyone you know. Their lives are just more challenging. You wouldn’t be afraid of an autistic child or a child with Down’s Syndrome, so it is time that you stop believing that ALL mentally ill people are violent, lazy, stupid, scary or any other adjective you can think of.