heap of potato chips in bowl on wooden background

Recovery is a journey. Yet, no map or compass is provided to aid in this journey. I alone each morning have to figure out the steps I will be taking that day. I have to decide on the supplies I’d like to carry with me as I’m trekking and leave the unnecessary behind.

Setbacks happen, because logic. And sometimes those missteps are overwhelming and affect my ability to see how far I’ve come on my journey. Setbacks make me believe I am at the starting point all over again. They make me believe fighting isn’t worth it, that my effort in holding on is futile. I forget I am so much less suicidal today than I was six months ago. I forget, when I am feeling suicidal, that I am so much stronger now in fighting those thoughts. I forget I used to be in the ER every other night for anxiety and severe post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) symptoms. I forget. I forget. I forget.

And when setbacks are overwhelming, all I want to do is curl up in a ball, stay in bed and just cry until my tears run dry. And sometimes, I do just that. Like yesterday. I was depressed and angry at myself that my schedule became messed up again. I’ve worked hard to keep a schedule, and I’m trying to adjust to my meds. And yesterday, sleep wouldn’t come and at that moment, that meant my hard work was pointless.

I stayed in bed all day, ate two family-sized bags of potato chips, didn’t shower or brush my teeth and delayed my medication intake by a few hours. Not good. Not good. Not good.

I woke up this morning feeling horrible. I figured I might as well stay in bed another day and have another bag of potato chips. As I was debating the idea, I remembered how far I’ve come in my journey and the small successes I’ve celebrated each day. I remembered my old self and the newer one who incorporates coping skills to the best of her ability. I remembered the warrior in me, the obstacle fighter, the mountain climber, the untrodden path hiker. Real hikers pause their journey too sometimes. They set up their tents for the night and resume when they feel recharged. I must not let my bad choices of yesterday influence my choices of today. I will accept my yesterday because it’s part of my recovery. It is a part of my journey; my life.

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One day I will tell the world how two bags of potato chips made me realize that setbacks are OK and I can fight again tomorrow.

I ain’t giving up that easy. My journey is important to me, setbacks and all. And I am slowly learning to make new and better choices each day.

Follow this journey on Tea or Lemonade.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit our suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, the Trevor Project at 1-866-488-7386 or text “START” to 741-741.

We want to hear your story. Become a Mighty contributor here.

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There is power in being honest. Take it from someone who spent decades keeping her mouth shut. There is a glorious joy in not being ashamed of who you are.

I’m not just talking about telling the truth when someone asks – which should be the human default but usually isn’t – but in starting the conversation. Talking about something just because the words need to be birthed and sent out into space.

In a world where speaking the truth will get you killed in some countries, I spent decades silent and alone because I chose to. Well, that’s not really fair. Depression, anxiety, and later, complex post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) are not choices. They were (and still are from time to time) a very real prison. Well, maybe more like a prison guard, who stands over you with a blackjack. Any attempt to speak – or even stand up – is greeted with a swat to the extremities, and down you go again.

Eventually, you stop trying.

When I was finally let out – through a combination of medication, therapy, and some miracle of God — I read a lot. The Mighty. To Write Love on Her Arms#ImNotAshamed. I loved reading the honest stories of people who had struggled — or were still struggling — yet faced their pain like heroes.

And the more I read, the more I felt like it was OK to talk about my condition to my friends. And the more I talked about it, the more empowered I felt. Most of my friends didn’t care either way, and some of them became more understanding of my sudden disappearances during a panic attack.

Like most people, I like lists. Driving into work today I came up with four reasons why being honest about my mental health issues has changed my life.

During the decades I spent trying to be a “good girl” and fit in, I didn’t let people see the real me, which resulted in being lonely all the time. Every day. Now I’m honest about who I am, and while a middle-aged woman who’s obsessed with “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” and quotes Nietzsche still isn’t going to be prom queen, there’s at least the possibility that I might run into someone looking for nerdish companionship.

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Being honest is a virtuous act. And philosophically, I believe that virtue is its own reward. Every intrinsically good action we take changes us for the better. Lying about who I am is wrong, and that includes saying I’m OK when I’m not.

I can help people. I can show them how empowering it is to speak up. Even if they can’t speak up for themselves, maybe they’ll find comfort in hearing someone else’s story. I did.

For some reason, the simple act of speaking truth makes me feel like a combination of Xena Warrior Princess and Joan of Arc. In being brave, I realize I can be brave, which makes me do even more brave things, which makes me feel stronger. And feeling like you can take on the world after years of lying on the floor at the mercy of a blackjack is indescribable.

It’s like escaping prison.

Follow this journey on www.christinekillmer.com.

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There are times when I am too tired to get dressed, too melancholy to bother to eat nutritional food, or to anxious to care about anything because I’m caring about everything. These times are exhausting, and life tends to slip through the cracks when I am experiencing these feelings.

But there is something that is always guaranteed to drag me from the couch and into the great outdoors – my animals.

Our dog, Darby, my dear sweet fur daughter, will make me feel guilty and frustrated with her boundless energy if I don’t at least take her out for a short walk. Her boundless energy can be infectious. She is my constant companion, and on the bad days, her intuitive ability is at its finest. She will be my shadow, sitting silently at my side or at my feet, lying on or under the bed if I haven’t managed to get up. Seeing her bright eyes looking up at me with concern helps me to push on when things seem to be too hard to handle.

Then there are my dear cows, Daisy, Budda-Bing, Cow, and Mavis. They are my playful and affectionate visitors who often drop in unannounced. They come up from the paddock and proceed to sniff around the house and bellow until I come out to them with carrots or apples. They like to be fed by hand, be petted while they eat, and they are always appreciative. They don’t care if I am still in my pajamas, if my hair is unwashed and unbrushed, or if my breath stinks. If I don’t answer their call, Daisy will bring it upon herself to tap on the cement at the front door, like a knock. She is determined that she must be rewarded for her lengthy journey up the hill.

Images Copyright: Kat and Steve Smith | ks-photography.com.au

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Our chickens are tame too. While they don’t eat from my hand like the cows do, they will stand right at my feet and demand their food by pecking at my toes mercilessly. And when they bring their tiny, fluffy, cute little chickens home from their bush nests, it brings a warmth and joy to my heart.

And last but not least is Brewe, our Merino sheep. He was left here a year or so ago when the rest of his flock was moved on and has made himself part of the family. He amuses me so with his standoffish nature, which obviously wars with his natural curiosity. When the MooKids come for their visits, he comes too. I bleat at him, and he comes closer, until he is close enough to see I am not a girl sheep — but simply a girl — at which time he huffs and walks away. There is much to be said for the humor he brings to my life, although he would be likely unaware of it!

Some assume that animals are not intelligent creatures, but I would disagree. They have much more simple lives than us, but they are still complex in their ability to nurture our very own souls. They make me see joy, they make me laugh at their amusing antics, they warm my heart when it feels cold and numb. Their playfulness and the gentle understanding they seem to have makes me smile; they are so pure in their affection, wanting nothing more than a pat and a meal.

People assume that these animals rely on me, that they need me for their care, but the truth is far from that. I need them.

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I have four, count ‘em, four diagnosed mental illnesses. I struggle daily with major depressive disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, with heaping spoonfuls of borderline personality disorder and bipolar disorder. It’s definitely a lot to handle. I’ve been seeking professional mental health help for 10 years now, although I could have definitely benefited had I started earlier… maybe when I was 13 or so. I’m 28 now and just got my most recent diagnosis of bipolar.

The Mighty is my group therapy session. I can pick and choose which illness I want to hear about today, all without having to contribute my own feelings and emotions to a group of strangers who may or may not judge me. Today I have to courage to share what it’s like having four diagnoses.

Every day, I hungrily lap up the latest Mighty article that relates to me that finds itself in my Facebook newsfeed. It’s so relieving to read someone else’s words and feel as if I’d penned them myself; it’s truly cathartic. I’ve always wanted to extend myself in that way, and The Mighty even prompts me on Facebook with questions like: “If you struggle with bipolar disorder, how would you describe it to someone who doesn’t understand?”

That’s where I get hung up. Which is the bipolar again? Is that the one that makes me want to sleep all the time or the one that makes me fear abandonment? I struggle with trying to put into words what it’s exactly like living with each disorder; all I know is how I struggle with the collective of disorders.

The good news is, living with a mental illness, or two, or more, isn’t living in box. Your emotions and experiences and perceptions are uniquely yours. Certain aspects of a mental illness may align with the way you think, behave or otherwise live, and that’s OK. That’s where diagnoses come in and lead you to the proper people for the appropriate help.

And a lot of people without mental illness don’t understand or even stigmatize mental illness. And that’s OK too because generally, people fear what they don’t know or understand. We have the power to educate others about mental illness, or, if you’re like me, find the proper resources to educate them when the words aren’t forthcoming.

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That’s why I have to thank all of you for speaking out, writing it down, sharing it with the “group.” Because without other people who have had similar experiences, we wouldn’t continue to learn about our conditions, grow, be able to educate others, or find solace.

So keep on fighting, sharing, caring, and asking. We, as a community, deserve to have our voices heard, no matter how small of insignificant you feel. Because somewhere, someone is finding strength in your words.

We want to hear your story. Become a Mighty contributor here.

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For some people who live with a mental illness, there’s this fear of being “too much.” Like you need too much support, too much help or have too many needs. Sometimes this fear stems from being in an unsupportive environment; sometimes it comes from our perception of ourselves, as if reaching out to someone — even for the smallest thing — will make us a burden, will make us too much.

We want you to know you are never too much.

Everyone deserves support, and everyone deserves to feel the emotions they feel — no matter how big or how small they are.

We asked people in our community to share one thing they would want to tell someone with a mental illness who feels like they’re “too much.”

Here’s what they shared with us:

1. “You have so much value. Your ‘too much’ is actually just your amazingness overflowing. You are loved by those who deserve to love you. Those who don’t, aren’t worthy of you.” — Abbey T.

2. “Things happen that are out of your control, and sometimes this relates to mental health as well. Never feel like you’re too much, sometimes you need extra support from a parent, guardian or friend. No one chooses this, it just happens. Accept yourself for who you are.” — Cara H.

3. “Sometimes it’s not about you being ‘too much’ — sometimes it’s about the people around us being ‘too little.’ Little understanding, little empathy, little support… but for every ‘too little’ person there’s always going to be at least one ‘just fine’ person. Fine with your mental illness, fine with understanding you, fine with helping you, fine with supporting you. Fine people are out there so don’t think of yourself as too much!” — Yazmin B.

4. “I always remind myself and others feeling this way that your space in this world is not conditional. You do not have to shrink yourself or cut parts of yourself off to fit into a box you feel you ‘should’ be in, whether it’s your illness or other people that are making you feel that way. Recovery is only possible by allowing yourself to be everything that you are, to feel everything that you need to feel. You are entitled to take up space, you are allowed to feel the way you feel, you are allowed to ask for help.” — Charlotte M.

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5. “You are absolutely worthy of happiness, kindness and life itself. Your illness is lying to you by making you think you are too much, because you are loved and wanted by so many.” — Megan E.

6. “You’re worth it… On your worst days I am here if you need a shoulder. This is something I would like to hear now.” — Kim W.

7. “It’s OK to have good and bad days… I will be there for them no matter what. I will be their light in the darkness.” — Katie W.

8. “You are never too much. You’re just right for me and everyone who loves you.” — Kassy P.

9. “I constantly feel like I am too much. I take everything to heart. I feel everything. I read too much into every single thing. I analyze everything, then overanalyze it again until I become ill. I wish my friends would tell me they appreciate me, that they appreciate having someone who cares that much. That it’s OK that I worry.” — Annie T.

10. “You are just enough. Never too much, never too little: just the right amount you are.” — Schelley K.

11. “You are not alone in your feelings.” — Trish L.

12. “You may be too much for some people. That’s OK. Find those who crave your intensity, who love your ‘muchness,’ who encourage every bit of your wild heart to escape, to shine, to explore. The ones worth knowing will love every part of you: the darkness and the light, the ups and the downs. Let your ‘too much’ be your fuel, not your downfall.” — Alicia T.



If Your Mental Illness Makes You Feel Like 'Too Much,' Read This

Bravery.

Some of us are brave for giving speeches in front of thousands of people. Others of us are brave for learning to walk after an invasive surgery. Some of us are brave enough to put our lives on the line to promote a cause we so desperately believe in. 

For some of us that kind of brave is reaching out of the comfort zone. Throwing yourself out there. Taking that step when the other side can’t be seen. That is one kind of brave.

My kind of brave is different.

My kind of brave is waking up every morning and telling myself to get out of bed. My kind of brave is swallowing those newly prescribed antipsychotics every day and praying that they might eventually work. My kind of brave is telling the people I know about my mental illness, all the while knowing they will judge me.

And my kind of brave is choosing life. Yes, that’s my kind of brave.

And, because you woke up today, I’m here to tell you that you are brave, too. If this is the last day you can bring yourself to muster. If you are holding on by a thread that threatens to break. If you are contemplating a way to stop the madness. 

Stop.

Don’t.

Be brave.

I know the struggle. I know the darkness. I know the suffering. I know the pain. I know the numbness. I know the chaos. And I know you think that in a single instant you could end it all.

Don’t.

Be brave for one more day.

And after that, be brave for the next.

Sometimes being brave isn’t climbing mountains. Sometimes being brave is as simple as finding the impossible will to make it through one more day.

So, please remind yourself of this today: 

You are brave. 

You’ve started another day. 

I don’t know how many days it will take for you to get better. 

But, I do know this: 

You will make it.

So, when you don’t want to wake up tomorrow, and it all feels like it’s just too much.

Please remember this:

You can make it through another day.

You are brave.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit our suicide prevention resources page.

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If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or text “START” to 741-741.

Editor’s note: Please see a doctor before starting or stopping a medication.

We want to hear your story. Become a Mighty contributor here.

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