I believed that it was somehow normal for insects to live under the skin. I was too embarrassed to seek help because I never thought anything was wrong. Even after I was diagnosed with schizophrenia, I kept my bug problem to myself. It’s only recently that I’ve opened up about it in therapy. I’ve dealt with it since my first break at twenty-one.
We are constantly told that bipolar is not something that can be cured. And that may definitely be true. But what we need to start telling each other is that there is a better way to live with it. Whether it comes in waves of hours, weeks, or months. We are the only ones in charge of taking care of ourselves.
Since getting my medications adjusted sixteen months ago, I’ve become incrementally capable of responding to the common reality despite schizophrenia’s influence. I’m more keenly aware of the difference between what I think is happening and what is actually happening. I’m growing more adept at handling reality as it comes to me, carefully sidestepping any mental pitfalls that might otherwise derail my ensuing thoughts and reactions.
When I was fresh out of college and struggling with my symptoms, my brother was there for me, listening without judgement as I shared my stories of paranoia. His compassion and strength helped calm me down. He was an anchor in the chaos of my volatile youth. A lover of life, he thwarted my suicide attempts and helped me rediscover my own will to live.
Stress can be insidious, because it usually builds slowly in our lives. As we grow up, we take on one challenge, then another, social obligations pile up, responsibilities, bills … then, life shows us her teeth. Unfortunate things may happen, on top of everything else, which has already been stretched so tightly and worn so thin.
When I started to open up about disordered eating and body image, I learned that shedding light on the darkest corners of my life can help shed more light on a path to healing for myself and others. In the hopes that opening up about depression will do the same
Throughout this week, we aim to encourage communities to explore what hope means to them by exploring their own definition of hope, what it can look like, and experiencing what it can inspire you to do. These hopeful discoveries can be used to incite positive change while nurturing empathetic and compassionate conversations about mental health.
A notification from the hospital lab slides across the screen. His test results are back. Hmmm. Lithium level not great yet, but at least nudging at the therapeutic range. Okay.
Society still paints with a broad brush when it comes to The Other. We’re raised from an early age to be aware of our differences rather than our similarities, which, when misdirected, can result in such ugliness as racism, sexism, and ageism. Mental illness is the last target for intolerant behavior, the last quarry for the cruel, because mental illness by its nature knows no division.