Linda de Sosa

My family went through all the usual reactions: Is she doing this for attention?  Does she want to commit suicide?  What caused all of this? And most importantly, How can we help her?

After a brief period of counseling and a period of family discovery of common self-harming and depression myths (http://www.helpfordepression.com/slideshow/drugs-and-medications/9-myths-depression), the danger seemed to be past us, but the fact of the matter was that my dear family member had been sick and hurting and we didn’t even know how to recognize the symptoms of her depression.  

To make sure I never missed the warning signs again, I became certified in Mental Health First Aid (http://www.mentalhealthfirstaid.org/cs/program_overview/), and I made a commitment with her to make healthy lifestyle changes together. Together, I am proud to say we have made true progress toward accepting her struggles with mental illness and we are trying hard to offer a loving, supportive environment for her mental health and our own.

Our lives will never be the same, but our experiences have opened our eyes to the world of mental health struggles that millions of people face on a daily basis.  I really believe we are stronger as a family for having lived through this and worked toward a positive family environment for her and for all of us. I wish you all the same success we have had in managing mental illness and in overcoming the challenges and strain that these difficult conditions can put on a family.

The reasons that my doctors call me remarkable are few, powerful. First, in spite of continual misdiagnoses and poor medical treatment I kept seeking the right answer.  Second, in spite of excellent care I continue to remit and relapse but I hang in there with resolve, determination and the trust that for each relapse there is a corresponding positive time.

That doesn’t mean that through impossibly unbearable depressions I go around with a smile on my face.  I am no Pollyanna.  But I am like a dog with a bone; I won’t let go.  I thank God for my amazing family and friends and for my equally amazing doctors. Where does that leave me today?  Well right now, for today, I am stable and I have been for several months.  Right now my 8 month old grandson is taking a nap upstairs, three of my four dogs are playing happily outdoors while the fourth naps here with me, and I am looking forward to the roast chicken that I will make for dinner. I am looking forward to the days ahead even while I continue to learn from the days that have passed,.  Mostly, though, I take each day as it comes.  I know that in spite of my illness I am truly blessed.

My mother is manic-depressive / bi-polar and was physically and mentally abusive for most of my childhood as a direct result.

My younger brother is bi-polar and found his relief by acting out, getting into trouble, and eventually self-medicating via crystal meth.

I myself was always… “off”…I was often sad, prone to fits of unprovoked crying, violent temper tantrums and rages, and self-imposed isolation.  I fixated obsessively on specific people, specific events, specific items, specific tasks.  I had no language that I could use to identify what was wrong with me, and we didn’t talk about these sorts of things in our house.  So, I often withdrew, followed my sadness into a world of books, writing, movies.  There would be long stretches where I would feel “alright”, and could sparkle and shine at people in school, make “friends”, “connect” to people.  But inevitably the “black wave” would catch up, and I would spiral back into my own loneliness and sadness.  I would get angry at myself for “ruining everything”, push away those friends, get more angry at myself for not being good enough to keep those friends, wonder why I couldn’t just be like everyone else and let things go and be NORMAL.  I fantasized about killing myself regularly, convinced that everyone else would just be better off if I wasn’t there, ruining EVERYTHING.  I made two half-hearted attempts to kill myself while in high school.  I never told anyone.

I was diagnosed as manic-depressive my senior year of college, after reaching a breaking point – my seriously overbooked schedule and the pressure to maintain grades and “keep it together” just fractured my brain, and I snapped, lashing out at some of my closest friends, and at myself.  My roommate found me crying on my bedroom floor with a pair of scissors, in a blind rage attempting to slash at my own wrists (the scissors were dull and no damage was done).  The next day, I went to see the campus mental health counselor.

It was the first time anyone had heard me describe my life and my experiences and given me a response that was something other than “Oh, you’re just being dramatic”, or “You are too sensitive” or “Just chill out”.  The counselor looked me in the eyes that day and said “Let’s get you someone to talk to.”

I started seeing my psychologist later that week.  She connected me with my psychiatrist days later.  Together, they diagnosed my manic-depression, and for the first time, I had a language that I could use to define why I felt “off”.

But to this day, the hope that I found that day has always been tainted.  I knew how the world viewed people with “mental illness”.  I knew it because I viewed them that way too.  Sad, crazy, terrifying, disturbed, broken, cracked, helpless, pathetic, psycho.  I watched and read “Girl: Interrupted” and was horrified by the idea that someone might look at me the way they looked as Susana Kasen.  I read “Prozac Nation” and saw so much of myself in Elizabeth Wurtzel that it scared me.  I knew that I needed the help that came with the diagnosis, but wanted to run away from it, too.  My own sick mother scoffed at the diagnosis and told me to “buck up and stop feeling sorry for [myself]”.

There are exactly two people in the world that I have admitted my mental illness to – my mother, and my best friend.  It has been almost 8 years since my diagnosis, and I still feel as alone and as shamed as I did then, although I have more tools and am personally equipped to deal with the “black waves”…but I am not “fixed”.  I still feel at times that I can never be “fixed”, and I try so hard to pretend that I am not sick at all.  But when the melancholy sets in, and I start to isolate myself, and I can see the self-sabotage begin, I am reminded again and again that I have an illness, and that I need help.  I consider this letter a very small step towards “coming out” and owning the fact that I am manic-depressive, and while I may not always be “alright”, in no way am I “broken.”

When describing brain disorders to "normal" people I often compare mental illness to diabetes. Both are conditions where your body isn't regulating certain substances in your  body. But you wouldn't yell at a diabetic for not eating ice cream when everyone else is or call him a "picky eater." You wouldn't ask for proof of his condition.  If you asked him why he wouldn't eat the ice cream, if he said he was diabetic, you would leave it at that. But if you can't wash the dishes because of a terror of dirty water, you get called "lazy." It's frustrating.  There are many things I CAN do, but sometimes the ones that are impossible for me at this time  are seen as some kind of choice.  It's at times like that when I wish mental illness had some kind of physical sign.  You know, like a cast on my arm, or something.  I've been lucky in that most of my immediate family has been very supportive.  But I also know the shock and devastation you have when someone close to you doesn't believe in mental illness and chooses to see you as a loser.  I guess I just wanted to share some of the ups and downs mental illness has brought to me.  For the most, I'm able to live a relatively normal (if somewhat reclusive) life...except for those darn dishes.

I have been followed and treated for almost 40 years, because I realize I am the one who must own my illness and do something with it. The most difficult aspect of my life is the need to hide this "secret" for fear people will be afraid of me (though I have never been psychotic or dangerous to self or others), make fun of me, not understand that I function just like every human on the earth.  Stigma is the cruelist part of any mental disorder.  Every morning I wake up and wonder - "what will today bring?"  I have shared my secret with a few close friends and co-workers, but have found that it is usually brought up and thrown back at me or used as an excuse by them for some action or even a remark I might make. 

Why in this well read and knowledgeable society of today mental disorder cannot be accepted as well as say, diabetes or cancer, is beyond me.  I still do not speak of my illness to the masses for fear of the stigma attached.  The people in this world are too cruel.  Interesting that we accept the alcoholics, drug addicts, child molesters, and throw aways of the world, but we have no compassion for those with mental disorders. 

I have a few of very close friends who know I am bipolar, and they are accepting of it.  They don't even think of the illness, but see me as a friend they love and trust.  I blame or media (magazines, books, TV, etc.) for a lot of the stereo typing of a person with mental disorder. The hardest process would be to reverse peoples thinking about mental illnesses and what they mean and to simply realize that we are just simply ordinary people with dreams, need to work and to be accepted, who laugh and cry, hurt and have sorrow, achieve and abound just like everyone else.  Appreciate this organization very much.  I somehow feel better to know you exist to help those with mental illness.

The stigma of mental illness can only be conquered if we share, reach out to one another and try to stand tall. Mental illness is invisible to those who haven't struggled with it -- it is important to make it as visible as any other illness, and accepted as just that. We must be there for each other!

I do believe that traditional medication plays in important role in treating mental illness, but I have a very sensitive body chemistry which doesn’t allow me to take most medications. I’m 26 years old now and manage my episodes largely without medication by paying very severe attention to my mood (using charting), avoiding things that trigger my episodes, and taking necessary steps to keep things in check (like eating healthy, exercising, seeing my therapist, and having a rigid sleep schedule). It is by no means a foolproof system, but I feel good knowing that I am doing everything in my power to help manage my illness.

I have worked in the fashion industry, the film industry, interior design, merchandising, and now real estate. Bipolar disorder has made it very difficult for me to work a typical Monday through Friday job, so I try to work in areas where I can have a project-based schedule.

On National Coming Out Day in October 2011 I decided not only to come out to my friends and family as being bisexual, but also come out as having bipolar disorder. Two birds with one stone, right? My hope with “coming out” as someone who has bipolar disorder is to help raise awareness of the illness and be much more open and honest about it in my everyday life. The result has been excellent and full of support, and I’ve recently applied the idea of busting the stigma around mental illness to a bipolar themed blog.

Funding for health benefits for many low-income people with mental illness in Washington State has been cut, so it has been very important for our community to support organizations like NAMI who facilitate free weekly support groups in our area. Over the last year I have also been doing my best to help moderate a Seattle-area bipolar support network which has been incredibly rewarding. Being able to help remove the isolation-blinders that many folks with mental illness have (believing we need to live silently and alone with these issues) and show others how many of us there are and how much we are alike is something that keeps me feeling hopeful about eradicating stigma. Talking with others with mental illness is a great practice for speaking to everyone about it openly.

This last year has been one of my hardest years, but it has also been one of the most inspirational for me. The more I do to help others with mental illness, the better the situation becomes for all of us. We can make a difference!

Like many of us, the desperate need to find a way to increase my income to support my family became an unbearable burden. Not having the financial means to improve my condition made me feel inferior as I compared myself to my peers. What does it take to get ahead, I asked myself?  Would luck ever change for me in regards to making any real life improvements? Sadly though, these were the thoughts of a young man that wanted more out of life than what the hands of fate had dealt him.

As a young man, I married at the tender age of nineteen, started a family and had three children. I came from a poor Haitian family background and I am the oldest of four siblings and a native of Bahamas. Since the age of twenty-three I suffered from depression, ADHD, and schizo-affective disorder. This and other circumstances created major setbacks in my life that made it seem like words from a conversation with God book wasn’t a bad idea. As luck would have it, it was my need to understand my condition that led me to turn to spirituality for guidance. This guidance led me to take hold of a better understanding of what it means to be human, suffering with an illness. This spiritual guidance also gave me the clarity to see the divinity within all those affected with a mental illness; celebrating the real reason for being here.

Nevertheless, through my recovery I began boycotting being “Normal” by realizing that we are NOT just mental health “consumers”. We are pioneers! Peers + ion = P(ion)eers - person or group that is the first to do something. Consider yourself as a pioneer as opposed to a consumer, if only for what you have accomplished (or will accomplish) through your own mental health discovery and struggles. It’s the “ion” thing to do!

Age 27. I spent much of my first-ever therapy sessions “instructing” the therapist what she may or may not write on my chart, “proving” that I may have “some issues” but definitely not clinically diagnosed diseases. “Do not put me down as anorexic or depressed. I am not. I know the criteria in DSM IV (Diagnostic and Statistic Manual of Mental Disorders, Fourth Edition) and I do not meet them. I’m a little confused, a little sad, and I don’t want to be fat – but that’s normal. I am not crazy. What are you putting on my chart? I don’t want anything on my record!” My primary concern was not getting better – of course, if you are not sick in the first place, you don’t have anything to get better from.

My eating disorder symptoms started when I was 14, a year after my family moved from Hong Kong to the U.S. As an eager-to-please child living under high expectations, I took perfectionism to the extreme. I felt like I had to be good – preferably the best – at whatever I did. The message I internalized was “Be the best! Must not fail!”

I remember always having a huge fear of going crazy and/or being fat. Growing up, I only knew one person with a mental illness. One of my aunts had some sort of schizoid disease. The family didn’t talk about it. By the time I was born, my aunt had been medicated for years and I never experienced her hallucinations and delusions firsthand. But I knew “something was wrong” with her. She was “weird” and was obese. She was many other things, but those two stood out for me. 

I don’t know how much my fears were related to my aunt; the media and our culture certainly didn’t help. I irrationally believed that if I went crazy, I’d be fat, too; so if I didn’t get fat, then I can’t be crazy. Either way, my conclusion was that I definitely did not want to be crazy or fat. My aunt was yelled at, shamed, ignored, made fun of and pitied, all of which, even as a young child, I knew I didn’t want to experience. I don’t know when, but I think I subconsciously determined early on that I would never allow myself to be crazy or fat. That just wouldn’t happen – not to me – as if those were things I could actually control.

It was a very difficult transition to American middle school. I felt lost, lonely and out of control. In addition to the usual teenage turmoil, everything I knew became ambiguous as my two cultures clashed. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do, how I felt, and ultimately who I was. I was having an identity crisis. I didn’t belong. I didn’t fit in. I spoke with an accent. I looked different. The wish to be happier, more popular, more in-control morphed into a relentless focus to be better and thinner. My belief that I could handle it myself, while trying to cope with confusing and painful emotions, ignited a destructive war within me. 

The frequency and severity of my eating disorder behaviors fluctuated throughout the next 14 years. It would subside for month or years, and then peak again, particularly during transitions. For a long time, I got by under the radar. Undiagnosed. Untreated. Unlabeled. The worse the eating disorder got, the more strongly I tried to evade detection and treatment – not a surprise since denial is a prominent feature of eating disorders, making the disease even more lethal. 

It is scary how easy it is for people, even those close to you, not to realize something is very wrong when you “look normal” and “are doing well.” After all, how bad can things be for a 27-year-old with two Ivy League degrees, a nice condo, a fancy car, a promising career, and a seemingly good relationship, right? Aren’t people with serious mental illnesses unemployed and living on the street? She has it all – she is just stressed. While some people were dying to be me, I was dying – literally. And, dangerously, I didn’t mind.  

Some say you need to hit rock bottom before you are forced to change – I supposed that is true in my case. The bottom led to a four-and-a-half month inpatient treatment at the Renfrew Center, where my journey of recovery began.

Recovery is such a strange process – it’s not intuitive, especially when I was fighting against myself. The “getting better” part just couldn’t happen when I refused to accept that there was something to get better from! At first, I fought the diagnoses and was ambivalent about recovery. In my mind, those labels described “really crazy people” who obviously were not me. I’m not them! I wanted to be far, far away from the stigma and judgment I associated with having a mental illness. I wasn’t sick. Besides, nobody around me had mental diseases. Nobody talked about it and everyone seems normal. What would people think? Will I still get promoted at work? Who is ever going to date me? Will my parents think I’m a failure? I was terrified that if labels were written next to my name, the diseases would become me.

Letting go and being willing to be diagnosed and treated freed me from the fear of being labeled. Learning to accept who I genuinely was, the good and bad, was critical in letting me just be. I never found out what exactly was written on my charts. Gradually, the details didn’t matter. I learned to treat them as just words and categories – like numbers on a scale. They do not define me.

With nearly five years in recovery, I now have a life I enjoy. And I enjoy living – despite and along with the long list of mental diseases I had or have. It’s not easy. I sometimes wish I didn’t have to deal with them or that there would be a “quick fix.” But I have learned to accept and continue to get the treatment I need to maintain my health. I have learned to love my body, accept and integrate the diverse pieces of my life, and continue to discover and value my worth.

I have learned that I am not alone and there is a supportive community available to help. Now, it is important for me to help raise awareness about and increase treatment access to eating disorders and mental illness. I want to help fight the secrecy, shame and stigma that perpetuate myths and deter people, including me, from getting help. I have learned that recovery and living well with mental illness is possible. And I have learned that, even when it may not seem like it, there is always hope.

People come and people go
isn't that the way?
Life is but a journey with lots of ups and downs
We all have highs and many lows

bIPOLAR WORKS 4 ME

North and South 2 poles apart
im somewhere in the middle
yet i stop and wonder whats it like to live in 2 time zones at once
whats the difference if i walk or fly its time that pass's for us
all

some people say life is a roller coaster ride or a merry go round
for me i prefer not to ride along
id rather broaden the circle to which i travel

What does it matter if you travel in circle and cycles even in
clicks
Whats with the sayings hurry up and stop, im starting to stop and
wonder
Are we so Different?  

Bipolar works for me,ive learned alot inbetween floors
up or down, slow or fast  ....people come in all ways
Life comes and go, make the best of what we got .

Moods swings and tire swings
as people sing songs, some happy and  some sad
Seasons come and seasons go as people rise and fall each day

tOGETHER WE ALL SHARE.....and hope to be love and accepted
giving and recieving is what acceptance is all about
And with we come to stop and Reason with the one who gave us most
Dont we all need forgiveness when we see all that was loss
when we fail to see its God WHO defines us not our disabilties and
limitations

YES thank God, Bipolar works for me as all things can work for good
We are his Children so tell someone we are blessed to be a blessing
and stop the stigma and division, for Today is our present sent to us
to share

Recently, there has been a series of advertisements outlining the reality that mental illness of one form or another touches EVERY SINGLE LIFE. One in four Canadians experience mental illness. Wow - - that is more common than many other illnesses. Mental illness, in all its facets, crosses every socio-economic, racial, religious, and division of our society. It is an equal opportunity disabler.

Sure, sometimes it is easy to predict. For instance, every one of my sisters lives with a mental illness. And, although my father died before I was even a toddler, the consensus of those my elder is that he grappled with a mood disorder. My paternal grandmother's behaviour veritably shouts bi-polar disorder. Even my mother's strong pioneer forebears have a few nuts on the family tree. Oh yes, we joke about our health concerns - - it is another family trait that I am proud to share with my kin.

The only difference for my generation is that many of the problems that were previously seen as character flaws or a weakness of 'constitution' are now understood having at their root a chemical imbalance. The leaps and bounds made in managing these disorders is incredible. During the 1950s and 1960s, depressed people (generally women) were simply sedated into a state of automotonism to make them more manageable. If that approach did not work, they were placed in psychiatric hospitals and subjected to any number of barbaric treatments including ice baths and repeated shock treatments.

Sometime during the late 20th century, advances in science made it possible to look inside the human brain and find actual biological changes that correlated with depression and several other diseases. Just as an angioplasty shows changes in a person's cardiovascular system that go along with heart disease, certain changes in brain chemistry equated with depression. WOW. To say that research was ground breaking would be an understatement.

Behavioural and social symptoms that less than a 100 years ago were believed to be caused by demonic possession, were now clearly understood as biological in nature. Unfortunately, diagnosis and treatment is not as cut and dried as for some other disorders. Diabetes and high blood pressure have tried and true medications and lifestyle regimes.

It is time to remove the negative stigma from what we once called “mental” illnesses. They are biological diseases that have emotional, social, behavioural and, yes, psychological symptoms. However, they are no more the 'fault' of the person experiencing them than is heart disease, high blood pressure, diabetes or epilepsy. Certainly life circumstances and habits contribute all disease - - such the nature of our frail human forms. It is, however, important to recognize that just like other diseases, the patient's attitude and approach to treatment are paramount in recovery. A heart attack survivor who makes a conscious effort to change prior behaviour patterns that lead to the problem has a much better chance of long-term health than a person who stops for a pack of cigarettes and a cheese burger on the way home from the cardiac unit. The diabetic who exercises and monitors his blood sugar will have a longer, healthier time on Earth than one who does not. Virtually all illness can and should be treated in a holistic manner.

For me, proper medication to correct my chemical imbalance combined with a conscious awareness of thought and behaviour patterns than perpetuate the depressed state work wonders. Add to that exercise, routine, loving relationships, good friends, lots of laughter and work that makes me feel like I am making a difference in the lives of others and, well, I soar. That is my life now - - I choose each day to be happy, to love and be loved and to believe that I am here to make a difference.

I would attribute my success to a few, simple practices: taking my meds, getting proper rest, exercise, and a fully developed support system. I firmly believe that recovery is possible for all that are suffering.  As for me, I had to “trust the process” and be willing to make some fundamental changes in my life. I also had to learn from my past mistakes. I had to realize that my alcohol and drug use only served to worsen my condition, thereby making it impossible to achieve any sense of stability in my life.

I have been blessed, through my recovery, to have the life I could once only dream of. I have been happily married for 17 years and have two teenage daughters. I currently work in the mental health field and have written a manual entitled, Working on Wellness: A Practical Guide to Mental Health (2010 Chipmunka Publishing).  I also write a blog of the same name and have given numerous presentations, telling others about my story. I enjoy being able to share what I have learned over the years. While I know that what may work for one may not work for another, I do believe that it is possible to find common denominators that can lead one to a better, healthier life.

In some ways I am grateful to have bipolar disorder and to be a recovering addict. Acknowledging these two things has allowed me to develop a different perspective on life. Today, I know my limitations, but I have also learned that I am capable. RECOVERY IS POSSIBLE!

With much discussion and trepidation my brother agreed to get help. Through the next 14 years of his treatment and recovery there were a lot of "ups and downs" for both of us, but I committed that I would not abandoned hope...or him. As the one-year anniversary of his treatment approached I had an overwhelming desire to film a documentary chronicling Call's journey and his road to recovery. I decided to take a leap of faith and tell our story and this film became my passion. There is this unfortunate stigma about mental illness, and not unlike Call, the mentally ill have a "soul and a purpose". The purpose of my film is to help remove the fear of the mentally ill due to a lack of knowledge. Fear is the lack of knowledge. During the process of making this film, I knew this was my and Call's purpose in life...to help people become aware of mental illness through hope, love, compassion and forgiveness.

We want others to know that thru "love and courage" loved ones of the mentally ill can stay together thru incredible challenges. Together they can alter the course of one persons life and thru them, the lives of many others. Our goal is to educate and heal, by helping people become more aware of the nature of mental illness on a profound level. I want people to connect "soul to soul".

The first inkling we had that something was wrong was when my fourteen-year-old daughter ended up in the hospital after a suicide attempt. We discovered by reading her journal that she was involved in a whole slew of dangerous and immoral behaviors. We enrolled her in a school for troubled teen girls quite literally to save her life. It cost us a fortune. But it didn’t magically cure her. She attempted suicide again on her 16th birthday and again got into some serious trouble. But we never gave up on her, and we never stopped loving her.

During this time, our oldest son’s violent outbursts resulted in several calls to the sheriff. He was hospitalized once. As a young boy, my husband and I always assumed he was just an ill-tempered child, just like we assumed our daughter was just a rebel. With the help of several excellent doctors, and a huge financial sacrifice on our part, both kids were diagnosed with clinical depression, mood disorder (akin to bi-polar), and Oppositional Defiant Disorder. In addition, our son was also diagnosed with ADHD.That was nearly two years ago. Both are on various medications and are under a doctor’s supervision. Since diagnosis, life has steadily improved for all of us. While life is not perfect (we do have bumps along the way) our kids have stabilized and are living normal lives.

Our daughter is in her second year of college studying music. Our son is a freshman in high school and is about to earn his Eagle Scout.  My husband and I learned how to handle crisis situations like experts. We’ve become better parents and more compassionate human beings. We have faced the stigma of mental illness in the way friends and acquaintances sometimes avoid and/or label our kids. While we have had a lot of support over the years, our kids have also, at times, been ostracized, judged, labeled and mistreated by even close friends. Some even keep their distance out of fear. I’d like the world to understand my kids better, to see them through my eyes.

I woke up each morning hoping that this was the day the fog would lift. It always had before. But that old energy I counted on to get me through couldn’t be tapped because it was nowhere to be found.

I went to 12-step meetings almost every night where I’d hear people share from the podium that people who took psych meds weren’t sober. That we all were crazy from alcoholism and that was our only problem.

I was told to try harder, but I was already working with newcomers, sponsoring women, meditating and I’d worked the 12-steps more than once. And I got sicker and sicker trying to work the 12 steps on my mental illness until my only option left was suicide.

And then I was in a mental hospital. I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder 2 (later changed to 1) and PTSD. I learned that not all humans got so happy they feared they’d spontaneously combust and so sad they’d sleep for days.

That night I took Lithium and Zoloft. I was scared of what the meds would do to me and I was convinced that I would no longer be sober. I woke up 4-hours later and had my first lucid thought in months: Maybe this diagnosis has nothing to do with my alcoholism. Maybe it’s a separate issue.

I found a great therapist and psychiatrist and returned to my 12-step meetings. I learned what people think of me wasn’t my business. I found compassion for the people who ignorantly thought I relapsed.

Once I stabilized, my inner world was like nothing I’d ever experienced. I had a peace I never knew existed. Then I got mad. I wasted decades suffering. There was a long grieving process ahead.

That was 6 years ago. My husband and I are happily married and have a 4-month old son. I’m of service to alcoholics, addicts and beepees (my nickname for fellow BP survivors).

I’ve found what was once a liability has become my greatest asset and because of that, I’m free at last.

I’ve suffered from anxiety since I can remember. Throughout high school and the early days in college, we just referred to it as ‘stressed’. During my senior year, however, life happened. Once my parents told my siblings and I that they were getting a divorce, the anxiety grew into full blown panic attacks. I would suddenly be unable to breathe. My heart would start pounding and I’d start shaking. My chest felt tight. Everything would get blurry and I’m told my eyes would glaze over. It’s among the scariest things I’ve ever experienced. I would have several throughout the day, and by evening I’d be so tired, I’d fall asleep on the couch in my apartment’s living room no matter what was going on around me.

It’s not that I didn’t want to get help. There were just so many factors that I didn’t know where to start. I was heartbroken over my parent’s separation and the loss of the ‘whole family unit’ that I’d enjoyed for over 20 years. I was angry that I was now a ‘child of divorce’, but also conflicted because, as an adult, I understood the reasons behind their decision. I felt I had to defend members of my family against those in our neighborhood and church who judged us. As the oldest sibling, I felt responsible for making sure that everyone was cared for. And as it was my senior year, the ‘normal’ stressors existed – completing my classes satisfactorily, figuring out next steps in the coming years, and saying goodbye to dear friends.

After Christmas, it became clear how drastically our family dynamic had changed, and when I returned to school I knew I needed to enter counseling. It was a first step, and it took all the strength I had. I didn’t find the counselor I needed right away, or the answers I craved immediately. But I finally learned one virtue I’d always been missing – patience. And then I started finding solace.

I was diagnosed with situational anxiety and depression. I started taking medication for the panic attacks, and was immensely lucky that the first choice worked, as I had several friends battling this mental illness with me and it took them multiple tries. I did spend months crying, angry that I had to deal with this when everyone around me appeared to have it so easy. Things just didn’t seem to affect anyone else. But I went to regular therapy, and confided in close family and friends so that they knew what I was fighting against. And that’s when I really discovered one positive thing that came out of all of this – I have a completely amazing support network.

My family was on board. I had 10 close friends on speed dial should I start to panic at 4am and needed someone to talk me down. I had even more I could talk to during daylight hours. My apartment-mates took it upon themselves to learn about the medication I was taking and developed a system to help me remember to take it every day without anyone outside our circle ever knowing. I developed a rapport with my counselor who saw me through the rest of my senior year and helped me successfully graduate from college.

I stopped taking the medicine 6 months after I started. I felt honestly balanced again. Things didn’t stop being rough, but I started learning ways to handle the things in my life that caused the most stress, and eventually, I learned how to stop the majority of the stress all together. I found another therapist post college who helped me work through issues as they arose. I found myself in a caring and committed relationship, and while that has since ended, I learned so much about myself that I’m grateful for every second.

I have hit several roadblocks since. My anxiety will never fully go away. It’s a part of who I am now. I stopped drinking caffeine after a Red Bull sent me into another anxiety attack. I had to learn the significance of not fighting for every friendship when a fight with a friend started a fresh panic. I consider myself lucky that my faith never wavered and I know that the power of prayer was definitely a solid piece of the puzzle. I’ve become an advocate for those suffering from mental illnesses and have found myself privileged to be sought out by friends going through difficult times, knowing I’ll share my story and answer every question honestly. I’m a huge proponent for therapy – I believe it helped me tremendously, and fight strenuously against the stigma that exists with seeking counseling. My own recovery will probably be ongoing for years to come. But it’s happening, every day, and I can see it.

This holiday will be our seventh Christmas in our ‘new family dynamic’. It’s not even really ‘new’ anymore, to be honest. And it has become balanced. My mother is re-married and brought a whole new group of ‘extended family members’ into the mix. My father is seeing someone who I actually like. Both siblings are happy, adjusted, and while they live out of state, I see them often. The friends I relied on so heavily during college have remained constant in my world, and truly became the definition of life-long friends. I never thought I’d be grateful for going through such a struggle, but I am, to a degree.

Sometimes, life happens. It’s how you choose to deal with it that really shapes how you live your life, and how you find the positive things to look back on. I will not lie though… sometimes it’s difficult to take my own advice.

‬I am happily married to a lovely lady,‭ ‬47‭ years and counting.‭ ‬She supported me during my episodes and I owe my life to her.

At‭ ‬69,‭ ‬I have knowledge and experience when it comes to dealing with Bipolar Disorder.‭ ‬My mission is to help others in achieving emotional stability without episodes.‭ ‬I’ve lived‭ ‬50‭ ‬years with Bipolar I.‭ For the first‭ ‬25‭ ‬years I dealt with over‭ ‬5‭ episodes.‭ ‬Since then,‭ ‬I have transformed my life by changing my thoughts and committing to a consistent supply of Lithium.‭ ‬I’ve maintained years of‭ "‬episode-free emotional stability‭"‬.‭ ‬Some would classify this as a‭ "‬Functional Bipolar‭”‬.‭ ‬Perhaps I might classify it as‭ "‬functionally cured‭"‬.‭

I was one of the first to receive Lithium when the FDA approved it in‭ ‬1971.‭ ‬It has kept me stable for the last‭ ‬27‭ ‬years,‭ ‬along with knowing the‭ “‬Power of Being Positive with Bipolar Disorder‭”‬.

Recently, I have published an e-book : "Power of Positivity - For Bipolar & Anyone Else". Find my e-book at https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/86502 or http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005NKFWPA

That's my message, first and foremost - life is so worth living, and you can be bipolar and have a wonderful life. We have so much to share with the world, and it's so important that we educate others about the illness. WE ARE AMAZING PEOPLE!!!!!!!

Being diagnosed with bipolar disorder was a blessing and in some ways a curse at first.  I was young, 19 when I was diagnosed, my parents took me to a psychiatrist because I had spent over $5,000.00 in less than a month and couldn't tell them where or what I had bought.  This was not the only reason they took me, but it was the capper to a long list of behaviors they knew were not normal and that were becoming increasingly out of control. After my diagnosis and  the first cocktail of medications were prescribed I spent much of the next 15 years fighting and self sabotaging myself to believe everyone else was wrong and that I was in control of my mind and body. The only person that was wrong was me.

I now have faced the fact that there is only one way to be in control: through surrender.  When I began to really be in a therapeutic relationship with my doctor and medication it felt like the world "slowed down" and it is very often frustrating not be able to do 5 or 6 things all at the same time. Even with these small sacrifices I have found that the payoff of staying "level" is well worth it.  I want people to know that with a good doctor, medication and family support bipolar people can be functional and productive members of society.

I started the year 2008 in and out of a psych ward. I attempted suicide multiple times between December 2007 and March 2008. My last brush with that stuff was in October 2008. No plan, but the thoughts were there. During early 2008, I finally got the help I needed. I was finally diagnosed – Borderline Personality Disorder, and severe Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I hated the symptomatic diagnoses I had previously been handed. Anorexic. Bulimic. Obsessive Compulsive. Rescuer. What do you do with that? You deal with the symptoms. You try to see that you’re emaciated and not fat, at 5’7” and 85 pounds. You stop yourself before you stick your finger down your throat after a healthy meal. Yeah. Right. Try stopping a freight train.

So how does one go from eating a bottle of Klonopin and waking up spitting mad and desperate in a locked ward to living in the best place ever, in an enthusiastic, healthy marriage and surrounded by loving friends and family? Healthy serotonin levels make the difference between suicidal, severely depressed and the ability to look out at the world and see love and beauty and joy and the capacity for peace on earth. I previously lived my life knowing something was terribly wrong with me, knowing that I was a terrible person, because I couldn’t hold my tongue or keep my temper. I cried so easily, so readily and so publicly, so many times, that I was sure I was ‘insane.’

Within two weeks of being on medication, I found my temper and triggers simply leveled out. I didn’t feel dull or witless, as I had feared. It takes A LOT to make me angry nowadays. And, even then, I can feel anger without losing my temper. I’ve gained way too much weight, but I don’t feel crazy about it, in fact, my weight (50 pounds over where it should be at healthy levels) has stayed level for more than a year. That’s a first, since I was 15.

My new year’s resolutions are all about eating right and exercising. I’m determined and confident that I can do it. Hooray for me!

I was battling my disease every day. However, very few people around me knew what I was going through. I was energetic and outgoing despite being so fatigued that I could barely stay awake. I was positive around everyone else even though I thought negatively about myself.

In 2006, while I was volunteering at a music festival for young children, I had a seizure. I woke up a bit after thinking that I had just taken a nap. I remember feeling so  embarassed. Once I finally opened my eyes, I saw my 8th grade English teacher kneeling over me and telling me what had happened. The seizure was a side effect of some new medication that I had started just one week before.

I graduated high school towards the top of my class. I was a high honor student who could be considered the definition of a "well-rounded" individual. Not only were my grades great, I also had excelled in band, art, sports, and student clubs. Additionally, I was continually participating in volunteer activities.

The next step was college. I wanted to become independent. I certainly got that by deciding on a college that was over 250 miles away from my entire family. I knew no one coming to the school or the surrounding metropolis. Even though I had left my security blanket at home, I was ectastic to start over.

My depression was still by my side however. I was diagnosed with dysthymia, which is considered to be a more "mild" form of depression. However, in order for individuals to be diagnosed with this kind of depression, they need to have exhibited symptoms of depression for over two years continuously. At the time of my diagnosis, I had been facing depression every day for six years. Additionally, my illness is also combined with major depressive episodes and seasonal affective disorder. Every day I have to fight my "invisible illness."

While I continued to work hard at my school work while battling my depression, I was blessed to come across my passion and my career goal. After meeting some inspirational children and adults with autism, I decided that I wanted to dedicate my life to becoming a therapist for children with autism. I have worked tirelessly to learn about autism. However, it was when I was with these children that I truly felt energized and alive which had become foreign sensations to me.

Today, I am 22 years old. I have lived with depression for almost half of my life. While school and work have been tough to maintain, I have excelled once again. I am currently in the process of applying to graduate school to earn my Masters in Occupational Therapy. As mentioned above, I want to work with children with autism.

I relate to these children because they too are facing challenges in their daily lives because of a disease that is more "invisible" than "visible." The general population doesn't understand why a child with autism may start screaming uncontrollably in a grocery store. People may believe that a child is "retarded" because they don't talk to others well. However, if you spend a few moments with a child with autism, you can see that they are just like any other child. In fact, I believe that they are sometimes more wise and creative. I have learned to appreciate the simple things in life because of the children I have been so fortunate to work with.

I have struggled with negative stigma. I have never held back saying anything about my depression because I truly believe that it is not right that I should feel as though I have to watch what I say or that I should be afraid of what others may think about me. My depression is a disease that is caused by an inbalance of neurotransmitters in my brain. Why should I feel as though I need to stay quiet when other individuals with "visible" diseases and disorders are not viewed negatively at all?

My biggest fear at the moment is not being accepted into graduate school because my grades are far from perfect even though I have enormous experience in working with children with autism and other mental and physical disabilities. I don't like the fact that I am not given enough space in the application to describe my greatest accomplishment in life: not only surviving as a young woman with depression, but thriving. I am more compassionate, determined, and intelligent than many but I am afraid that these schools will only see my grades.

I have decided though, that I have accomplished much more than my illness wanted me to. If these schools can't see past my grades and my illness, then they were not meant for me anyway. I know what I am meant to do and I will reach my goal sooner or later. I have not let depression stop me so I will also not let negative stigmas stop me.

Some years of my childhood were spent hating myself and I will never get them back. However, I get up each day and I face this illness that has been a constant companion to me. I am told by many people I love that I am one of the strongest people they have ever met. I am finally starting to accept that myself.

If I were given the opportunity to change the past and change the fact that I have lived with depression for over ten years, I would pass. I am who I am because of my illness. I am more empathetic, compassionate, and hard-working because of it. And in spite of everything, I WILL change the world. I am a face of depression and I am proud of it.

Nonepileptic seizures are a mental illness manifested into seizures so the mind and body can cope with life’s stressors. I found out the puzzling factors of my medical life this year and accepting the truth of these disorders is very difficult.

I have learned that a person has to keep seeking therapy, effective treatments and support from those who know how difficult mental illness and medical conditions can be on a person’s life. We need accurate education, awareness and stigma to be broken in these cycles of circumstances that contribute to mental illness. Sharing is the second step after seeking help to begin a road to recovery and medical health management to preserve life.

I wrote a memoir, The I In Me, that details my personal story of surviving child abuse and how to get beyond surviving to living life. Even with seizures that are classified as a mental illness and PTSD triggers and symptoms, I do not let this hinder my life no matter how many adjustments I have to make and no matter how unbelievable my story maybe to others. I seek treatment as it becomes available and try to do the best I can with what I am forced to cope with every day because of these intertwining conditions.

We do not ever need to stand alone. It is time to let others know that the only shame to any medical condition is not sharing our stories with others. By sharing our unique circumstances and medical complications of survival then we all are working toward living a better quality of life like every one deserves. We do not ask for these medical complications and conditions that affect our lives and we should never limit ourselves in fear from speaking about it.

Truth. Share your truth and make believers out of the unbelievers, this is how we conquer the stigmas as individuals.

I have only told a very select group of people about my past and about my mental illness.  I know people realize something is wrong, but I have never gone "public."  My first step is submitting my story here.

I am mentally ill.  That does not make me a pariah.  I am sick and that is all.  After 15 years of therapy, and a lot of support from my  inner circle (including my husband and son), I have finally decided that I need to divulge that I was severely abused as a child in about every way imaginable.  I have nothing to be ashamed of.  I did nothing wrong.  I have a lot to offer others who live through similar circumstances.  My goal is to be a volunteer at a local center for rape, domestic violence, and child abuse.

I want to erase the stigma associated with mental illness.  I want others to know that those of us who have a mental illness are no different from others who suffer from any other type of illness.  I realize it is time to speak out.  I was abused.  I am mentally ill.  I am a good, kind, empathetic person, and I have a lot to offer this world.  We all do.  People just need to give us a fair chance to prove it.

Before I begin my story, I want to tell you a little about myself. I grew up in Sanford, and for some reason, I never felt satisfied in Sanford. I couldn’t wait for the day that I could move away. Today, I love downtown Sanford. I appreciate the beauty and uniqueness the downtown area has to offer. At the age of 21 I got a full time job at Sanlando Utilities and was then able to move out on my own. I moved to Altamonte Springs and loved it.

Sanlando Utilities was a family owned business. I was the supervisor in customer service and billing for 22 years. When the owners sold the company they offered me a position at their construction company, Greater Homes. I worked in the Design Studio at Greater Homes for 8 years. In 2005 Greater Homes was sold to a national builder. I had worked 30 years in a family environment and I was not prepared to work in the corporate world so I decided it was time for me to retire.

My husband and I love every day of our retirement. Life is great. God is good. He has blessed our lives in so many ways.

I quite often hear about people with bipolar disorder whose lives are out of control. Due to the manic highs and depressive lows, life with this illness can be chaotic and it can destroy relationships and careers. So many times it is misunderstood by the person with the illness, family members and friends. Often people with this disorder will deny they have it and resist treatment. My life is so different now that I have learned to manage my illness with proper medications and therapy. It has not been easy to get to the place that I am at today. I so desperately wanted to feel normal and it took many years of determination and persistence to find the right help and right medications.

Often I hear he or she is manic depressive or bipolar. I think the term is used too loosely and at times it can be used in a hurtful manner. There are many people with this illness. It is a serious emotionally painful illness and should not be taken lightly.

My illness was properly diagnosed about 13 years ago. It took many years of therapy and my first manic episode to get a proper diagnosis. Finally, with the proper diagnosis, my therapist and psychiatrist were able to start me on the correct medications that put me back on track and feeling like my self again. I feel I was robbed of some of the best years of my life because I suffered from severe depression and anxiety without proper diagnosis and proper medications.

My introduction to the life of psychiatrists and psychologists was at the age of 32. During my first marriage we built a house and during the construction process I became stressed and anxious to the point I was not sleeping. This went on for a couple of weeks. I felt so out of control. I thought I was losing my mind. I made an appointment with my family physician. I had a physical and everything was fine. He suggested I see a psychiatrist.

At my first appointment with my psychiatrist, she diagnosed me with depression and anxiety so she prescribed an anti-depressant and an anxiety drug. After a few months on these medications, I was not feeling better and the symptoms were not going away so she prescribed different medications. I had regular therapy sessions with her and took the medications until the house was finished. When the construction of the house was complete, I was still depressed and anxious but my life was manageable.

Throughout the course of the next few years, I was still feeling anxious, depressed and empty inside. I felt there was something terribly wrong inside me. I felt unhappy in my marriage. I tried to explain this emptiness to my first husband, my family and friends. Nobody understood.

One day my best friend asked me if I could see the colors in a crystal. I explained to her that everything in my life was dull and that I could not see the colors in a crystal.

During this difficult time, a dear friend knew that I was battling major depression and asked me to go to church with her and her husband. I had not regularly attended church since I was a teenager. I accepted her invitation and went to her Pentecostal church. I was raised Lutheran and had only been in a few other churches in my life. Worshiping the Lord in a Pentecostal Church was very different from what I was used to. I grew to love the worship service and the Pastor’s message more each week and continued to attend regularly.

It was there at the age of 34 that I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior. However, my life did not change and I did not grow as a Christian at that time. I was so overwhelmed with sadness that I did not have the energy to focus on what was really important. Depression is a strange illness. All of my energy was used to do just what I needed to do to get by day to day.

Still struggling and not understanding what was wrong with me, I divorced my first husband at the age of 37. This was one of the most difficult decisions I have made in my life. I was single for 9 years and during that time I would periodically seek counseling. Each time I would try a different therapist – hoping for different results. I would again be prescribed anti-depressants and anxiety drugs. Nothing seemed to take away the dark, depressed, anxious, empty feelings. Some days were more tolerable than others but I knew deep inside that people were not supposed to feel this way. I knew something was terribly wrong. I became frustrated because I was searching for help but couldn’t find the help that I needed.

At the age of 42 my life became intolerable. I felt alone and desperate. I did something totally out of character. I went to dinner by myself and sat on a stool at the counter to eat hoping to meet someone. The only person who acknowledged my presence was the server. I left feeling more alone and desperate. That evening I made a very serious attempt to take my life with prescription drugs and alcohol. Fortunately, when I did not show up for work the next day a friend/co-worker had a concern that something was wrong and came to my home. I was rushed to the emergency room. I spent a week in the hospital. I was in a coma for 4 of those days. Before I could be released, I had to spend three additional days in the psychiatric unit of the hospital.

After a couple of weeks at home, I returned to work. I was struggling day to day which was obvious to everyone around me. One of the owners of the company could see that I was not doing well and suggested that I see his family therapist. I agreed and made my first appointment.

At my first session, the therapist could see that I needed medication. She suggested that I see the psychiatrist she works with. They work together as a team and meet weekly to discuss their patients. As a single working girl, I knew this was going to be expensive because my insurance covered medication but not therapy sessions. This needs to change. However, I realized that I needed to do everything in my power to get better and get the proper treatment I needed to be mentally healthy. I realized if I didn’t have my mental health, I did not have my life. I desperately needed this team.

To manage a mental illness there are two types of doctors that you need. One is a therapist or psychologist who helps you with counseling and the other is a psychiatrist who prescribes medication.

Throughout the next year I made regular visits to my therapist and I saw my psychiatrist every 6 months for a medicine check. Even though I was on an anti-depressant and an anxiety drug, I was still feeling anxious and depressed. I wasn’t properly diagnosed until I had my first manic episode at the age of 43. After much discussion between my therapist and psychiatrist, it was determined that I had bipolar disorder.

With this manic episode I was totally out of control. I was at home and I actually thought I was making a movie about my life. My two best friends came over and they decided my family needed to be called to my home. After seeing my condition, my sister suggested to one of my best friends, who is now my husband, he call my therapist. My therapist told Hamp that this did not sound like the person she had been counseling the past year and that I needed to be admitted to the psychiatric unit at the hospital immediately. Again, I spent 3 days in the psychiatric unit. Both times, my experience in the psychiatric unit was not good. I was extremely fragile and needed to be in a safe and comfortable environment. A psychiatric unit is safe but not at all comfortable. This needs to change.

With the diagnosis of bipolar disorder my psychiatrist was able to prescribe the correct medications for me. I have been on these medications since that time and I no longer experience the constant depression and anxiety. The side effects from these medications keep some people from taking them. The main side effect that I have experienced is weight gain. I gained 50 pounds the first 2 years. I weighed very close to 200 pounds. Over the years, I have slowly lost some of the weight. I am currently working hard toward getting to a weight that is healthy for me. I am on a low dose of each and if I begin to experience a depressive low or a manic episode I will increase the dosage temporarily until I am feeling normal. I will also see my therapist and psychiatrist during these times if needed. Therapy and medication together are a must in managing this illness.

I was not diagnosed properly early on in my life. However, I was persistent in seeking help and I did not give up. It took a long time to get the right doctors, the right diagnosis and the right medications. Finally, getting the proper diagnosis was the key to getting the correct medications for me and this has made a huge difference.

With each manic episode I experience the pattern is the same. I only need a few hours sleep and my energy level is heightened. I have grandiose thoughts of "Saving the World" by telling my story in a book and movie. My nature is to help people. My desire to help people gets stronger during this time and it is strange but I also feel a sense of urgency that people need my help and they need it now. I also envision myself standing at a podium, with my husband by my side, telling my story to thousands. With the help of my husband, my therapist and my psychiatrist I am able to manage this energy and stay in control.

From time to time I am going to get out of balance and will experience manic highs and depressive lows. It is very important to have someone close to you be in tune with your moods. My husband is so in tune with me that he can sense a manic episode coming on before I am ready to admit it. Once I finally admit it to myself and him, I immediately adjust my medications before I get totally out of control. I realized early on how important it is to take my medications daily. To live a normal life, taking my medications daily is imperative for the rest of my life. I will always have a therapist and psychiatrist in my life for my mental well being. I accept that and I am OK with that.

Manic highs and depressive lows can occur at anytime. With each episode, I learn more about how to manage my illness. If you know someone who has been diagnosed with a mental illness be sympathetic and understanding and know that it is challenging for them.

With many years of praying to God for help, therapy and reading self help books I have been able to work through most of my issues with life and sexual abuse as a child. I finally feel whole. Although 12 years of my life was a struggle day to day, God has richly blessed my life. I married again at the age of 45. I have a wonderful supportive husband and family. My husband, his two daughters, son-in-law and two granddaughters have enriched my life.

For a few years my husband and I were looking for a church home. June of last year we came to a funeral at First Baptist for a dear friend of ours. Our friend’s mother has been a member here for 40 something years. I think that our friend had only met with the Pastor a few times. The service he gave was beautiful. It was as if he had known her for years. He had done his homework. We decided to come to church the next Sunday and we have been attending ever since. We felt a warm welcome the very first time we attended and continue to feel welcomed. We joined a few months ago.

Since attending First Baptist I feel my faith growing stronger every day. I am now more aware of God’s presence in everything. My life is no longer dull. I now can see the colors in a crystal. My heart is open and I see God working and using me in many ways. This awareness is new to me. I now feel like I have been born again. My life is forever changed and I am so excited about this new feeling. I am at the beginning of my walk and I am looking forward to my new relationship with God growing deeper.

During my difficult years I kept a prayer journal. I would also pray throughout the day and at night and ask God for help. In His time, He answered my prayers. God is a God of second chances and it is by His grace that I am alive today. He has given me a second chance. My life is rich and full. I know that I am to help others with this illness learn that with the right therapy and medication life can be normal. The right help can save lives. I am not ashamed and I am not afraid to tell my story. Over the years, I have shared it with people that I felt would benefit from it and hopefully it will benefit someone here today.

I give special appreciation to my sister Karen, who has stood by my side through thick and thin, with no judgment, only love.

For me it has been the crushing lows of the depressive pole of this disease that have almost killed me. My sadness I can recall back to early childhood, as far back as four years old. I remember sitting in my bedroom alone with all of my toys and stuffed animals, just feeling a sense of great despair for no reason. This melancholy would revisit me many times in my childhood, especially during the tumult of adolescence. Though I attempted to push through the severe depressions in high school by hyper focusing on academics, many a day and night I felt paralyzed by the abyss. It was in college that the hypomania emerged, savings decimated by shopping sprees, staying up for nights on end, euphoria. I would use these energetic episodes to complete months worth of unfinished assignments for classes. I was undiagnosed still, attempting to the weather the brutal tides.

After college I went into a suicidal despair as the economy in 1991 left much to be desired. The job market was dismal for recent college grads and it helped to trigger a depressive nose dive. 1992 marked the first year of what would be a good deal of hospitalizations. Friends avoided me as word got out that I had been treated inpatient for a breakdown. I remember the lonely years in my twenties where I felt isolated and alienated due to the terrible stigma.

I was not properly diagnosed with bipolar disorder until I was 27 as my hypomanias had been overlooked. I was not properly treated with medication until I was just shy of 30 years old. Since then it has been a winding path, some days good, some still where the force of this illness comes crashing down.

My sister Karen, a brilliant and beautiful soul, has been such a support. She sees me for who I am, not for the illness I live with. She understands my struggles and remains ever encouraging. I am thankful for organizations such as Bring Change 2 Mind. Let us all continue the fight against stigma. Let us help educate people and offer help. Let us convince each and every person who lives with mental illness that they are not alone.

Transitions have been difficult for me for my entire life. I’m not yet 20 so my whole life has not been very long. However, getting a new teacher in grade school, the transition from elementary school to middle school, and the transition from middle school to high school were very difficult for me, and that was with my support system, my friends, my family, and my dog. When I went away to college I went far away, 12 hours far away. I found the perfect school, I felt at home, accepted, like I was in a community that was ready to learn and accepted the fact that I am not a party girl. I still think I chose the best college in the entire country for me but being separated from my mom, dad, brothers, sisters, dog, and four best friends was more difficult then I could have ever imagined it could be. When I moved into my residence hall, got a student ID and said goodbye to my family I thought it would be OK. I was sad but everything was going to work out.

I was doing fine at school, nothing exceptional, but fine. In December I got into a fight I didn’t understand with my friends at school, I wasn’t getting along with my roommate, but I felt I had a couple of really good friends, I got along with one of my two roommates. I wasn’t at school for the social scene, I was there for the academics, so I decided I shouldn’t worry.

In February I found the roommate I liked was living with my best friend on campus, which sent me into a major depressive episode. I didn’t understand how bad I was doing: it was a slow decline in my mental state. Nothing was fun anymore. I was no longer getting good grades. I wasn’t the strong, beautiful, outgoing, outspoken, smart girl that graduated high school. I was afraid of sharing my opinions. I didn’t want to meet new people, I didn’t do my hair or makeup, I wore the same sweatshirt for a month.

A couple days into my episode I couldn’t stop crying. I cried for 48 hours straight. I contemplated suicide. I felt worthless, useless, like a burden on my family. My mom talked me into going into the counseling center, where I got on anti-depressants, into therapy and I started getting better.

I felt that I needed to tell my roommates what I was doing to make myself better, so I told them on on meds and in therapy and they didn’t say much. The anti-depressants took the full six weeks to kick in and my roommates didn’t understand, they told me to get up, work harder, be happier, that I was bringing them down. They told everyone what I had told them in confidence, what I had told my mother over the phone. They didn’t understand how a girl from a good family, who was getting her college education paid for had to be depressed about. My friends started treating me differently, which only slowed my recovery.

Right before second semester ended I found why my friends were treating me differently, what they thought of me, and what they had heard from my roommates. When I overheard them talking in a public place, I was devastated. One of them had written my mother under the guise of friendship. She told my mother I was spoiled, I had no need to be depressed, my life was made, she was paying her way through college so she had the right to have these problems but not me. She told my mother it would be in my best interests to cut me off entirely and make me get a job, to understand how difficult life can be.

When I came home I realized I felt safe for the first time in months, I told my friends from home the entire story and they were supportive. I had a breast cancer scare and they would have done anything to help me. I have never felt more loved in my life.

Through the course of my freshman year I had thought about transferring colleges, but I loved my school, I was offered a position in our admissions office and I couldn’t see myself learning and living anywhere else for the next 3 years. I was very nervous this fall when I came back, but I found other people who had struggled with similar problems, but didn’t have the amazing family support I had. I stopped participating in the toxic relationships I had formed my freshman year. I worked hard in school, joined the rowing team, ran for the executive board of our cancer group on campus and got really involved. I am currently having a great year, I feel like myself for the first time in over a year. I have found what I want to do with my life and I could not be more grateful for the support I had last year. Although I wish I didn’t have to face the problems I did I found out how strong I truly am, how to find healthy relationships, and how to take care of myself. I feel like a better and stronger person then I have ever been.

So yes I do have depression. I also have food allergies. I have asthma. I have grey eyes. I am 5 foot 5 inches. These are all parts of me I cannot change, but they are not the important parts of me. I will not let these things define me, I will be defined by my choices, my values, and my personality. For anyone that is or has been in my position: It will get better, you can get better, and you can get to the point where your mental illness be one of the least defining things about you.

Crazy is a strong word. I hate that word. I was on a downward spiral and couldn't be brought out of it. I was suicidal and felt completely alone. I was lucky to have someone at the time who recognized there was an underlying reason for all this behavior and took me to see someone about it.

I was put on medicine and it seemed to level out, for a while. Meds were increased and changed on a frequent basis until they found the "cocktail" that worked for me. I found my behavior and attitude greatly improved.

Life is difficult though and sometimes that makes everyday life feel impossible for someone with bipolar disorder (BD), like me. "Normal" people don't understand what is happening with someone with BD and many don't want to understand. That’s the hard part. Telling my family was difficult. They didn't think there was anything wrong with me and that I was just a "bad seed". It has always been difficult for me with my family because I was adopted, I didn't always feel like I belonged. That hurts. But once they realized, after time, that what I was struggling with was something real, they began to realize just what I had been struggling with for so long. But BD is no ones fault. Its not something I can turn on and turn off. It’s not something made up. When people find out I have BD, they react one of two ways: they are incredibly supportive and try to understand the situation, or they shun me. They latter is the hard part. People drift in and out of our lives for so many reasons, some we can change and some we can't. But people don't realize that I am still human and I can still do things like other "normal" people can, I just have to do them in different ways sometimes. I surround myself with those people who are supportive and loving and try to stay away from those who may be "triggers" and don't help my well being. Relationships are difficult in general, but for someone with BD, relationships sometimes seem impossible.

Mental disorders have always been portrayed in the most terrible of lights. We have to show the world that we are OK, we just need help to be OK sometimes. All we want is to be loved and accepted and be able to love and accept in return.

At sixteen things became so unbearable that I embarked on a project of managing my anxiety and difficult emotions through self-harm. I would cut, bruise, and burn myself or binge on alcohol. I became addicted to the rush of self-injury and incapable of managing stress without SI. At my worst, I was cutting every couple hours every single day. I was meticulous in hiding my behavior from family and friends and kept up an active social life, graduated high school with exceptional grades, and received large entrance scholarships to university. I was in deep self-denial that I had a problem.

At seventeen, across the country from where I grew up and in university things started to unravel rapidly. I discovered that I couldn't quit my SI, that I wasn't in control as I had believed. I was deeply suicidal for months before I finally reached out to a core group of friends and university counseling services.

I still deal today with crippling anxiety attacks, higher than normal stress levels, and a constant temptation to relapse into SI behavior but I have actively forged new ways of coping with challenges. The support I have received and continue to enjoy has been invaluable, nevertheless stigma surrounding mental illness creates obstacles in academic and job environments. I have felt less valued as a student or employee because of my perceived inherent instability. People constantly try to "protect" me rather than challenging me. I've even felt as though I was kept on at a restaurant I worked at as a sort of 'charity case' instead of a valued employee, which meant I was scared to refuse or file complaints when members of management demanded sexual favors from me.

As someone living every day with a mental illness I still deserve all the respect and opportunities normally due to individuals. I have a life to live; unfortunately part of that has to be spent fighting stigma publicly, personally, and internally--because the most tragic part is that individuals learn to internalize the messages they hear everyday. I have to learn to think of myself as a student, a daughter, a lover, a friend instead of as an "emo", "cutter" or "psycho". Please help be part of this fight, my fight, our collective societal fight to combat stigma.