One Person’s Homeopathic Cure Is Another Person’s Useless Bit of Information

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There were moments of mountaintop euphoria. Then, days of unrelenting pain. Times when I felt I was unstoppable and godlike, in control of everything and everyone. And times when it all fell apart around my ears and I was left a dried up husk, failing to understand what had happened to my perfect life. There were stints in the mental hospital. Periods when my husband and I failed to connect, and I feared he would leave me for my erratic behavior and even more erratic affection.

The diagnosis of bipolar 1 came at the age of 43, after many tests and examinations, and the first thing I felt was relief. Immense relief. For years I had suspected such, and now here was the validation. I wasn’t alone. Maybe there was help.

Following relief, and right at its heels, however, was guilt. Immense guilt. I was a f*ck-up. An unbelievable “nutjob.” This was all in my head, quite literally, and I surely had the ability to talk myself out of it. Many people agreed with that destructive inner voice; a diagnosis of mental illness was simply a reason to study more scripture, pray more fervently and try harder to fight the darkness that consumed.

I listened to those other voices, and for far too long. I fought, and fought harder. Had my brain possessed fingernails, they would have bled at the clawing I did upon the door of sanity. It didn’t matter. Something more was needed.

When I tried to take my own life, the stakes rose even higher. I wept to my husband I don’t want to die; I only want the pain to stop. And though he did not know the pain I was experiencing, he agreed: something more was needed. Something more than the medication that was not working, something more than the Jesus of platitudes and therapy that went nowhere.

If I could go back and speak to that previous self, if I could be the paramedic or the policeman, I would have said, Don’t give up. It takes time. So much more time than you might imagine. Hang in there.

I would have explained that everyone’s brain is different, that what works for one person will not necessarily work for the next, that one person’s homeopathic cure is another person’s useless bit of information. I would have said that there are countless drugs out there and more being developed every day that could help me. That sometimes it’s a combination of these drugs, and that such combinations are almost without end. That there truly are psychiatrists who care and will take time with me to develop a plan of attack that will leave this enemy broken and bleeding, and you feeling better than I ever imagined. I would say that to quit life is not an option.

And then, I would hold myself for a really long time, and let me cry.

If you or someone you know needs help, please visit the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. You can also reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741. Head here for a list of crisis centers around the world.

The Crisis Text Line is looking for volunteers! If you’re interesting in becoming a Crisis Counselor, you can learn more information here.

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20 Messages for Anyone Who Feels Restricted by a Bipolar Disorder Diagnosis

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While a bipolar disorder diagnosis can feel like a heavy weight to bear, there’s a difference between a label and a definition. While a label is a guide for treatment options and understanding, it cannot limit or change the person you are.

For World Bipolar Day, the International Bipolar Foundation is asking its community to look beyond their labels with this year’s theme “More Than A Diagnosis.” Their asking people with bipolar disorder to submit photos or videos with a message about what defines them outside of having bipolar disorder. People who do not have bipolar disorder can submit a supportive message.

In honor of this year’s theme, we asked people in the International Bipolar Foundation’s community to tell us one message they would send someone who feels restricted by bipolar disorder.

Here’s what they want those people to know:

1. “Don’t put pressure on yourself to be anything for anyone else. Just be true to yourself. Accept your limitations, and only push them for you.” — Karen Smith

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2. “You are not defined by a diagnosis. You have an illness, you are not that illness. There’s so much more to you!” — Kristen Jordan Zeiler

3. “Believe all you see and half of what you hear. Life can be good and should be lived.” — Margaret Moore

4. “It does change your life, but it gives you a more compassionate understanding of suffering, it builds resilience, and the depth of empathy you feel can be used in a truly special way with those you choose to share it with.” — Lucy Edwards

5. “It changes you, for sure. It seems restricting at first. But, with time, you learn new ways around those restrictions. You learn how to be successful in different ways and through different paths. It changes your life, but it doesn’t stop it unless you let it. It changes how you see the world, and only you can decide if that is for better or worse. Love yourself for all that you are and through all you endure.” — Elissa Farmer

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6. “Be gentle on yourself, but don’t let your illness hinder you from setting your sights high. It will be difficult to get there, but you have it in you to realize your dreams! Having a mental illness teaches you to fight, and through it you become stronger. You got this!” — Katie Andrews Potter

7. “Be yourself! And work with your diagnosis. It doesn’t define you as a person. You may have had the condition longer than you knew, except now you can understand it and your actions. — Kaye Marshall

8. “Try your best to realize you are not your illness or your symptoms. Be OK with having bad days, and celebrate the good ones. Ask yourself what you would love to do if you didn’t have bipolar, then take tiny steps toward doing it anyway. I never thought I’d be able to continue my education, but here I am, two and a half months shy of a MFA in writing. Get out there when you can, and be gentle with yourself when you can’t.” — Trenda Marie Berryhill

9. “You are still the same you inside. A mental health diagnosis just helps your doctors to more easily create a path back to a healthier, more balanced you. Do whatever you have to do to get back to the real you. She’s still in there. She’s worth it. You are not your diagnoses or your traumas. You are so much more.” — Danielle Hark

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10. “For me, my diagnosis meant I wasn’t alone in the world anymore, that there were other people like me! It means I have the opportunity to get treatment and support for who and what I am. I am not afraid of labels; it is others who are afraid of labels. I am proud of who I am, my diagnosis means I have something to overcome, something to fight, and I do fight it, I live with it, and if others are afraid of it, that’s their baggage, not mine.” — Vicki Hope

11. “I would say take some time to grow. Learn every detail about your condition. Keep a journal. Bug your medication manager if your meds aren’t working. Look into your negative self-talk, and replace it with positive affirmations. Powerful.” — Susan Reed

12. “You might have to adjust your lifestyle so you can manage the bipolar disorder, but you are not alone. Find that inner strength to fight the illness positively. Pace yourself, and live at your pace.” — Hina Singh

13. “You will never know your limits until you try. You might even end up surprising yourself. If you make an attempt and it doesn’t work out, it’s OK. At most, you tried. It’s better than not doing anything and living with what-ifs. Each attempt is part of your journey, and the journey is always more important than the destination. Surround yourself with people who believe in you.” — G Mae Aquino

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14. “I was diagnosed with bipolar diagnosed as a teenager, and now I’ve been through two years of college and three years of university and I’m almost a qualified mental health nurse. So it will be difficult at times, but it does not restrict you from being what you want to be.” — Laura Louise Artell

15. “My mom told me from the day I was diagnosed ‘it’s a disease not an excuse.’  That I can do anything anyone else can do, I just have to work a little harder, which makes the end result that much better.” — Kimberly Dawn

16. “The disease is just as multifaceted as any individual is, so don’t feel boxed in by the labels and traits associated with the diagnoses. You’re more than the sum of your parts.” — Kelly Hainz

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17. “Your opinion is the most important opinion. If you believe in yourself and love yourself (when you’re ready to), that’s what’s counts. Never compromise your sense of self and don’t compare yourself to others. It’s not worth it! This is your journey.” — Melanie Luxenberg

18. “I find that first off, you have to accept yourself, love yourself, forgive yourself and seek assistance from your doctors and therapists. Take control of your own life and don’t be bitter to have this horrible disorder. Find your triggers and get rid of them if you can.” — Karlee Chavez

19. “It’s OK you feel this way. When you learn more about bipolar disorder and more about yourself, you will learn to feel less restricted. It will be OK, it will be difficult, it will be wonderful all at the same time. One day, slowly but surely, we will have the courage to move past everything that holds us back.” — Harleen Singh

20. “You may have ‘xyz’ but that does not mean that you are ‘xyz.’ Who you are is different altogether.” — Manda Raics

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*Some responses have been edited and shortened for brevity.

What defines you? Submit your photo or video by clicking here. The deadline is March 15.

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To My Husband: What I Hope You’ll Never Forget About My Mental Illness

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Dear husband who supports me,

I know I’m difficult, and I know sometimes life itself becomes difficult. But I also know I am trying to get better. I’m so sorry I still fall apart when I’m really trying to succeed. As we continue to grow together as husband and wife, and you and I both come to terms with what it means for me to have a mental illness, there are a few things I want to make sure you know so you never forget we are in this fight together.

1. No matter how bad it gets, I will never stop fighting.

I know times get hard, but I’m always trying to grow. I will never stop fighting to be well. Through my ups and downs and all my mistakes, I will continue to try to be the best me I can be, and that means I will continue to fight to live with this illness.

2. No matter what happens, I am with you till the end.

Through the years you have shown me you love me unconditionally. I don’t know what I did to deserve the love of a man so devoted to me, but I feel blessed to have found you. I will never stop loving you, and I’m thankful for all you do for me. You have found it in your heart to forgive all my foolishness time after time, and you are a true hero in my eyes. Thank you for standing by me as we approach this next phase in life. I know I can never be the “perfect” wife, but I also know I am with you till the end. Nothing will take me away from you. I will not let this illness ruin my love for you. With you, by my side, I know I will have the best days of my life.

3. I am doing my best.

I know it doesn’t always seem like I’m trying hard, but please know I’m doing my best. Each day I fight a battle that goes unseen by many eyes. It’s a battle only others who fight it can understand. I know you say you will never understand it, but know how grateful I am that you make an effort to console me as I fight it each and every day. I have a hard time somedays just getting out of bed, but when you call me, or text me that you love me, it gives me a reason to make sure I continue to be the best I can be. I may never have a spotless home, and I may never have a “real” job again, but knowing you are coming home to me gives me a little hope that fills my heart. It helps me feel positive about my life. Mental illness won’t win because we are fighting it head on together. I promise to continue to do my best at fighting.

Most people look at us from the outside and see a “normal” family. We try hard to keep that up. You and I both know that the unfortunate thing about mental illness is that in actuality, we are a normal family. Most people will, at some point in their life, either themselves experience a mental illness, or know a loved one who will experience it. As awful as it is, I know I’m lucky to have you standing beside me as I fight to have the best life we can for us and our boys. I know with you by my side, I will never be alone. This journey is far from over; in fact, it’s just beginning. Thank you for being by my side and loving me, mental illness and all.

The Mighty is asking its readers the following: Write a thank you letter to someone you realize you don’t thank enough. If you’d like to participate, please send a blog post to [email protected] Please include a photo for the piece, a photo of yourself and 1-2 sentence bio. Check out our Submit a Story page for more about our submission guidelines.

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There's No 'What to Expect When Your Kid Goes to the Psych Unit'

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I’m thoroughly convinced there should be a handbook. No one prepared me for this. A month after her 10th birthday, my daughter was admitted to the psychiatric hospital. 

My Bipolar Princess, as she calls herself, is my third child. When I had my first daughter, I read every pregnancy and parenting book I could get my hands on. Twelve years later, pregnant with my son, I once again raided the store shelves for reading material. Three years later, pregnant with Princess, I knew what to expect. I simply perused the books, but no longer relied on them.

I lived and breathed by the words of “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” and “What to Expect the First Year,” but by the time I got around to “What to Expect the Second Year,” I didn’t have time to read anymore, every minute consumed by a busy toddler.

There is no “What to Expect When Your Kid Goes to the Psych Unit,” and that’s the book I needed for kid number three.

Pregnancy and early childhood books offer tons of suggestions, such as how to pack the hospital bag, what to keep in a diaper bag. But no book told me I should have had a bag ready to go, with clothes (nothing with strings), shoes (with no laces) and slippers (patients leave their shoes at the door). 

These same books tell me when I should go to the hospital: as soon as your water breaks, or when the contractions are so-many minutes apart. But I had to simply guess when the time was right to take my daughter for an emergency psychiatric admission. Did an hour-long meltdown meet the requirements? Or would she have to break one of my bones first? There were no guidelines.

Baby books suggest always having a “lovey” on hand, an extra packed in the diaper bag. But she was not allowed a lovey in the psych unit. My daughter, who has comfort items, was not allowed to bring any of them with her. How could I have prepared her for that when I didn’t even know? 

I was well prepared for how long my newborn and I would be in the hospital. There was no such estimated time-frame in the psychiatric unit. My child was admitted for as long as it would take to stabilize her. It would’ve been helpful to know we would spend eight hours in the emergency department at the hospital before we were transferred to the psych unit. It would be a full 12 hours before I arrived home again. It would be more than 24 hours before I had time, energy or desire to consume anything more than crappy hospital coffee, with nasty, powdered creamer.

No matter what the books say, every new mother finds it difficult to follow the advice to sleep when the baby sleeps, to accept offers of help and to forget about the housework. But no one warned me that the time she spent inpatient would be just as exhausting as when she was home. 

When the new baby arrives, friends and family come to visit, and they bring food or offers to help. This time, no dinners were sent to the house. One friend promised, but never followed through. For days we lived on chicken nuggets, SpaghettiOs and PB&Js.

Everyone calls to ask how the new baby is doing. Only one or two called to ask how my daughter – or I – was doing. The public oohs and aahs over a new baby. But when I mention to the Walmart clerk I’m purchasing things for my daughter in the psych unit, it gets oddly quiet around me. 

Every new parent spends hours dreaming up possible names. My time is spent penning her name onto all of her belongings so everything would come home again upon discharge. Kind of like going to the worst camp ever.

A new baby attracts visitors and presents. No one visits my daughter, except my fiancé and me. There were no cards or balloons, no bows or pretty presents. I brought the game of UNO and whatever snacks she could eat during visiting hour. At least that meant no thank you notes to write. 

The only thing I received was a nasty phone call from her school bus driver berating me for not calling her directly to let her know not to stop for my daughter. Silly me for thinking that between two superintendents, the special education coordinator and the bus company, someone would have alerted the driver and alleviated me of one tiny responsibility.

Now that we’ve survived, I could write that missing book, complete with gut-wrenching details. The reality is, I don’t believe that even a 2,000 page trilogy could prepare me.  At least I now know a little better; I will work on storing meals in my freezer and I will pack a hospital bag. And I’ll have to ask for help, not expect it.

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When My Son Thought No One Would Hire Him Because He Has Bipolar Disorder

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My 18-year-old son, Cody, has bipolar disorder. For the past two years, he’s been living in a residential treatment center. As a result of intensive inpatient treatment, Cody is thriving now, but as he’s regaining his health and nearing his high school graduation, we’re dealing with some hard truths and some tough conversations.

The other night in a phone conversation, Cody adamantly stated, “No one will ever want to hire me, Mom. Who will want to hire a person who has been in residential treatment? No one will want me. I have ADHD and bipolar disorder!”

Wow.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

For years, Cody had no insight into his illness. Anosognosia is a significant component in severe mental illness. The person doesn’t know they are sick. They are too sick to know they are sick. They often refuse treatment. Our laws work against them. Thankfully, we are on the other side now. Cody has insight. We have something to work with. The truth.

But with that truth comes some hard realizations. Cody knows he has an illness. Cody is recognizing his challenges.

My heart broke as I listened to my son lament his situation and cry out to me in fear.
My son sees himself as “less than.” He sees himself as broken. He sees himself as un-hirable. He sees himself as unworthy. This illness is so destructive. And the world is a harsh and cruel place. My sadness quickly turned to anger

I wasn’t angry with Cody, I was angry at the lies and deceptions that were filling my son’s mind.

Through tears, I boldly proclaimed, “Those are lies, Cody. Those are lies.”

And then I spoke Truth over my son.

“You are more than a conqueror!” I said. I told Cody that for years the illness tried to destroy him…it tried to destroy our family. But today, with proper treatment, Cody is conquering the illness. He is definitely more than a conqueror!

I also told Cody that being in treatment and fighting such an illness is not a sign of weakness, it’s a sign of strength. Cody has worked incredibly hard to get to this place. That takes guts! Cody has fought for his life. Future employers will recognize that. And if they don’t, then he doesn’t want to work for them anyway! I told him his illness gives him strength.

And finally, I told him that in the two amazing programs he has participated in, he has been blessed with actual work experience to put on a resume. He has found skills and abilities that we never knew he had! His programs have equipped him. Employers will look favorably on his work experience. He is already one step ahead!

By the time we hung up, Cody felt better. And so did I.

We have entered into new territory. Facing the truth about an illness is hard stuff. But with faith, with honesty and with love, this is a hurdle we can handle. I am thrilled to be able to have these conversations with my son. Two years ago this never would have been possible. He is definitely healing.

I will continue to speak Truth over Cody. He is more than a conqueror. He has a hope and a future. He is strong and courageous. Cody is more than his illness.

So are you.

“Your illness is not your identity. Your chemistry is not your character.” – Pastor Rick Warren

“We are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.” – Romans 8:37

“‘For I know the plans I have for you’, declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and
not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.'” – Jeremiah 29:11

“Be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged for the Lord Your God is with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9

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What My Dad Taught Me About Love in the Midst of My Mom’s Mental Illness

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My mom’s mental illness diagnosis taught me an important lesson: Everyone deals with grief differently. Back in 2009, when my family first got the diagnosis “bipolar disorder” for my mom’s illness, I didn’t understand this truth.

I was 18 at the time and for me, my mom had always been my mom, nothing short of a superhero. She was the woman who spell checked all my papers or who, when I got a good grade, put it on the refrigerator. She was the person who fixed broken hems and replaced missing buttons. She was the person who made sure my brother and I were at church every Sunday and that we said our prayers before bedtime. She is the person who made every meal and left notes in my lunch. I didn’t know anything about bipolar disorder back in 2009, but I knew who my mom was.

It seemed like her mental illness came suddenly, almost as if it crept in through the night and my whole family missed it. The truth is we probably just didn’t know what signs to look for leading up to my mom’s first major episode. Neither my brother, my dad nor I knew anything about mental illness or what it looked like.

My mom’s first, full-blown bipolar episodes went on for a few months before my family ever sought medical help for her. My mom would experience the highest highs in her manic phases and the lowest lows in her depressed stages. It all felt so sporadic and scary at times. You never knew what you might come home to.

My initial response to the signs of my mom’s mental illness was shock, then fear, then grief. After that it became, “What are we going to do to help her?” I went into fix-it mode, but for awhile, my dad denied it. He tried to overlook my mom’s erratic behavior. I resented this at first, wondering why my dad wasn’t doing anything, as I saw it, to get my mom help. What I came to realize later, is that everyone handles hard situations differently. While it was hard on my brother and I to watch our mom go through this, my dad, my sweet dad, he took it the hardest.

Looking back now, I see that. While my mom is a parent to my brother and I, to my dad, she is his best friend, through sickness and in health. I now understand how mental illness can affect an entire family, wife, husband, daughter, son. It literally shakes the core of a family, but it doesn’t have to destroy it.

Since we first heard those words, “bipolar disorder,” I’ve seen the insides of mental clinics, seen cop car sirens looming in my front yard, sat in court rooms as a judge stripped my mom of her ability to make her own medical decisions, visited her behind glass doors of in-patient units, watched her lose weight from her medication, cleaned up after her as she got sick from that same medication and sat beside her in the ER room. Through it all, all the many highs and lows, one thing hasn’t changed: My dad standing faithfully at my mom’s side.

My dad has shown me so much over the last few years about what love and faithfulness looks like. It doesn’t leave when it’s hard. It stays, and although it’s been impossibly hard for my dad to watch his wife struggle at times with an unrelenting illness of the mind, he still finds joy. He still comes home to a bowl of ice cream each day. He still watches his baseball games. He still brings my mom Valentine’s Day flowers. He still puts up the Christmas tree.

My mom’s mental illness changed my entire family. A lot of it was hard and not what some would call picture, perfect. A bipolar disorder diagnosis, what could be viewed as a terrible, dark, ominous thing, brought out the best and worst in my family, but mostly the best. My dad taught me so much without even meaning to, just by loving my mom in sickness and in health.

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