I really never thought I would have to write a post like this. For most of my life, I have feared saying it. I would have preferred to be 'normal'. Whatever that is. But the truth is....I have a mental illness. I have had depression during most of my life. My experience with mental illness started with my Mom. The woman named Maxine that I frequently talk about. Maxine stopped bathing when I was eight years old. She refused to take baths until my sister forced her to when Maxine moved to Florida and lived with her. She would sit on the couch for hours. She would stare into the distance and smoke cigarettes. Doctors later 'guessed' that she might have been in a catatonic state. I say guessed because Maxine was never treated. She was angry and abusive. And seriously mentally ill during most of the time that I grew up.
As an adult, I was a mostly functional depressive. I got therapy. And I limped along. Sometimes I took medicine. I got codependency treatment twice in an effort to solve it. I lost relationships. I lost a marriage. I also worked in the field of mental health. Where I had the answers for other people. But not always for myself. I have a college degree, but two attempts to earn a master's degree remain uncompleted. The first was cut short at the birth of my daughter. The second died, at least partially, because of depression after the loss of my marriage. I put on a good face. But I was exhausted, sad, and totally overwhelmed. I simply gave up.
Then, Orlando happened. I moved to be near my sister. When it didn't work out, I was stuck. Or at least I thought so. That led to years of on and off serious depression. After the loss of a relationship, I had my first hospitalization. I was suicidal. I did my best after that hospitalization. I started blogging. I had a business. But I had no medicine because of lack of insurance. The business limped along for awhile. But for whatever reason, it began to fail. Which led to financial instability. I had trouble staying in housing. I didn't always have enough money for food. And I had very little in the way of a support system. My daughter was in Nashville. I was miserable. So, predictably, I again was hospitalized. Because I saw no alternatives. And I wanted to die. I had no energy. I couldn't think clearly. I couldn't find help...until I was again hospitalized after telling a woman on a crisis line I wanted to kill myself. This time, I made a decision. I have the head knowledge to deal with my depression. I know what to do. So....I did it.
From the safety of my home in Nashville, I feel like I finally have got it. I'm working. Taking meds. Exercising within my physical limitations. Using my support system. I feel good. Why did I feel the need to say this? A reader of my blog questioned whether I am actually mentally ill. I don't need to justify myself. But I'm going to do it. And remind this person that there is a continuum of severity with mental illness. Don't compare your experience to mine. I was hurt by your comment. I don't lie. And please don't compare yourself to other people. We all have a history. And a path to recovery.
As an adult, I was a mostly functional depressive. I got therapy. And I limped along. Sometimes I took medicine. I got codependency treatment twice in an effort to solve it. I lost relationships. I lost a marriage. I also worked in the field of mental health. Where I had the answers for other people. But not always for myself. I have a college degree, but two attempts to earn a master's degree remain uncompleted. The first was cut short at the birth of my daughter. The second died, at least partially, because of depression after the loss of my marriage. I put on a good face. But I was exhausted, sad, and totally overwhelmed. I simply gave up.
Then, Orlando happened. I moved to be near my sister. When it didn't work out, I was stuck. Or at least I thought so. That led to years of on and off serious depression. After the loss of a relationship, I had my first hospitalization. I was suicidal. I did my best after that hospitalization. I started blogging. I had a business. But I had no medicine because of lack of insurance. The business limped along for awhile. But for whatever reason, it began to fail. Which led to financial instability. I had trouble staying in housing. I didn't always have enough money for food. And I had very little in the way of a support system. My daughter was in Nashville. I was miserable. So, predictably, I again was hospitalized. Because I saw no alternatives. And I wanted to die. I had no energy. I couldn't think clearly. I couldn't find help...until I was again hospitalized after telling a woman on a crisis line I wanted to kill myself. This time, I made a decision. I have the head knowledge to deal with my depression. I know what to do. So....I did it.
From the safety of my home in Nashville, I feel like I finally have got it. I'm working. Taking meds. Exercising within my physical limitations. Using my support system. I feel good. Why did I feel the need to say this? A reader of my blog questioned whether I am actually mentally ill. I don't need to justify myself. But I'm going to do it. And remind this person that there is a continuum of severity with mental illness. Don't compare your experience to mine. I was hurt by your comment. I don't lie. And please don't compare yourself to other people. We all have a history. And a path to recovery.
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