Then as life does, something happened during my darkest of moments, when I couldn’t see a light – much less one at the end of any tunnel- I found refuge. Something that helped hold things together. Something that made me feel human. Something that made me feel alive.
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.
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.
Twenty-five years ago, or so, I received the basic stamp of “anxiety” and “depression” from some doctors doing what they could with a fifteen-year-old girl who didn’t know what was going on. In fact, my initial diagnosis came after six to eight months of checking for heart problems, anemia, food allergies, and “period problems.”
As a child, I suffered from a panic disorder that went undiagnosed until I was 25. Because no one knew what was wrong with me, everything was wrong with me. Every symptom I displayed was labeled and classified as something else: learning disability, perfectionism, insecurity, processing disorders, hypochondriasis and on we go. I struggled with a self-criticism so intense I became trapped and stuck inside its horrifying whispers.
Taking care of mental health is not only for people with mental illness, either. Chronic stress causes just as much damage, if not, more, on our brains and our bodies. This is the kind of stress that seems to have no end, no solution, nor reward once overcome. Financial instability, toxic situations, bad relationships, and an endless workload can contribute to brain problems like confusion or memory loss, headaches, exhaustion, and a taxed immune system.
If it is in my power to improve my situation, then I’m the only one that can do it. And to stay focused on the true meaning of gratefulness, I’ve challenged myself to take one picture a day of something I am really grateful for. Thus far, its resulted in everything from a bowl of almonds, rolling waves, and sunshine to pictures of my little one!
