TW: depression, codependency, obsessive-compulsive disorder

Read More

I’ve been going to Depression-Bipolar Support Alliance (DBSA) meetings since January. These have helped me so much, it’s nice to have a space to hear/say things about mental illness openly. While most of the people in the group suffer from a form of bipolar disorder (I, II, schizo-effective etc.), I’ve still gleaned a lot of good ideas on how to manage my depression better.

Last night we discussed how often what our bodies and minds tell us when we’re feeling depressed are actually the complete opposites of what we should do. We should get out of bed, we should put down the alcohol, we should pick up the phone, we should take our medication. But when your in a state where your mind is in a fog or simply too exhausted, it’s hard to distinguish what’s productive from what’s your disease/condition. 

Here’s some of the ideas we came up with to work better schedules/recoveries for ourselves:

• Start small, it doesn’t matter. Whether it be a goal for the day, week, or month, work toward it.
• Stay on a schedule as best as you can, especially when it comes to sleep and taking your medication.
• Do things for yourself and your recovery and don’t feel guilty about not being able to explain/justify them to other people

I go to meetings organized through this organization. This is probably the best thing I’ve done for myself this year.

So last night in a somewhat pathetic attempt to pretend I don’t care that people will judge me for taking care of my mental illness, I publicly checked into a mental hospital where I attend meetings last night. I don’t know who noticed or not (nor do I really care), but at the same time I had known for the last five times I’ve driven up to Cobb County not to do what I normally do when I go out.

And to be frank, I’m also not terribly comfortable with mental healthcare facilities as a concept. Images from Running With Scissors, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Prozac Nation and Girl, Interrupted come to mind when I think of the words “mental hospital” or “in-patient psychiatric unit” or whatever label someone at the hospital gave to it. Despite my own experiences and knowing that for the most part the treatment options are the best that they’ve ever been for people like myself, the social construct of mental illness and mental health care seems impossible to change. I’ve been making jokes about another hospital in the Atlanta area, Charter Peachford, since I was nine years old. They used to play commercials for the programs they have there and they were mocked heavily throughout my adolescence. Perhaps this too has helped me internalize stigma about living with mental illness and seeking treatment for it.

However, once I realized I needed to actually talk to people outside of my therapist’s office about my experience, going to a hospital was my best option. They know how to run the meetings and organize everything. They train former patients to be facilitators. Perhaps not all hospitals are as well run as Ridgeview, but I’m also no longer afraid of the idea of being hospitalized if I were to be a patient there. People do well after their programs. Everyone I’ve encountered there has been kind and willing to help me find whatever room I need to be at for meetings without judgement. It’s a lot less scary or sterile or depressing than I anticipated.

As for the meetings, it’s so nice to be able to talk openly about my experiences and hear from other people further in their lives that I can make this work. It’s good to be assured hat there are so many more resources and treatment plans than ever before, that things really can be managed. I like feeling hopeful about the future - that I could get married and have someone support me through this journey without having to miraculously overcome my illness. More importantly, we don’t pity ourselves. Everyone at these meetings is working toward something, even if it’s just working on not giving up. The solace I’ve found in a place that is most often presented in the most negative light makes me look forward to realizing other paradoxes and hypocrisies in this life.

I could wish that my family (immediate and extended) would act normal for more than 48 hours, but instead I’ll wish that they get treatment, that I continue with mine, and that this wave of anxiety/OCD madness passes.

It sucks that I felt really good today and then I started having tremors. 

Today’s the 9th anniversary of the day I planned to commit suicide.

As hard as some aspects of my life are right now, when I was driving around today I realized I’m so much stronger than I think I am. I hadn’t taken the time to recognize how much I’ve changed. Nine years ago I couldn’t imagine a future, I couldn’t hope, I was afraid of people and I hated myself.

Now, while staring down some of the same issues I was nine years ago, I can finally see how much I’ve changed. And maybe that’s why I’m in this situation right now, so I can take some perspective and recognize the strength inside of me. Maybe to just know even when things were at their absolute bleakest, I surrendered and put my faith blindly into a future with no guarantees.

And yet I’ve made it. Made it in ways I wouldn’t allow myself to think were possible.

Living each of these three thousand two hundred and eight five days is an accomplishment in and of itself. Life is really hard, there is no getting around that. Things can change though, even if you can’t see around the bend, there are still options and choices that will come your way that will change everything. There are people who will profoundly disappoint you and there will be people who are so amazing you wonder what you did to deserve them in your life. There is a balance in this chaos, I promise. And there are always, always, always places you can go to get help.

There’s a lot about this world I still don’t understand and a lot this world doesn’t understand about me. I’ve finally given myself permission to be okay with that.