Wandering In the Dark: My Mental Health Journey

Photo by Emily Underworld on Unsplash

Introduction

Content Warning: depression, self-harm, suicidal ideation, alcohol abuse, and references to child physical abuse.

Welcome!

May is Mental Health Awareness Month, so apropos of that, today’s post will be about my mental health journey.

Suffering in Silence

I was six years old when I had my first hallucination. I was in the hospital for an unrelated allergic reaction to Penicillin and Dilantin and the doctors switched me to another antiseizure that caused me to think a giant spider had captured me in its web and was trying to kill me. 

In my frenzy to get away, I shredded my bedding.

Afterward, they prescribed me carbamazepine, which I’ve been on for 30-plus years. However, from then on, I saw things that weren’t there, off to my left. These hallucinations would come and go, playing like channels flipping on a TV. I told no one about them because I had enough issues going, such as being bullied at school and my parents constantly beating me every time I acted out, without being crazy.

Kid me wasn’t the brightest and all this added to the displaced anger I had over the life-changing side effects of the allergic reaction I mentioned above (namely, being rendered effectively mute and having a breathing tube that made me the target of kids’ teasing).

So, I bottled everything up inside until it got too much for me.

I was 9 years old the first time I thought of killing myself. I was in the hospital, as I always was in those days, and had to have my blood drawn again. Taking the crude metal blank they used to stab your fingers in those days, I planned to silt my wrists.

However, the tech took it from me when she realized I had it and that was the end of that.

As I progressed to middle school, the bullying intensified, and I thought of killing myself often. Then the summer I turned 13, I had my first major depressive episode and lost interest in everything. My parents thought this was hilarious and laughed about it, so I stopped telling them anything about my problems.

It was also around this time I was struggling with my sexuality, which compounded things. I internalized everything and only allowed myself to express anger, often breaking things or getting into fights with my siblings, all of which earned me a beating from my parents’ thick brown leather belt.

It Gets Better . . .Kind of

At 19, I went off to college, started dating and hooking up with guys and the occasional girl, experimented with weed and alcohol, but my anger issues and other problems were still there. At one point, my depression got so bad I rarely left my dorm and failed most of my classes. Then at 20, I moved on my own and started using sex and alcohol to self-medicate myself and started cutting myself. I made a half-assed attempt to get help from one of my university’s therapists, but I wasn’t ready. So, I spent the first half of my twenties getting white girl wasted every weekend and hooking up to feel like I was normal and loved.

Psych Ward, Ho

Then the year I turned 26, I had a psychotic break.

 It began with a personality change; I went from shy and quiet to a literal frat boy. And the hallucinations I once ignored, became all-encompassing. I believed I was the Antichrist and that all the conspiracy theories about the Illuminati, the 13 bloodlines and 500 families who ruled the world, were true and I was one of these higher dimensional demons.

I wound up in one facility for a week before being released and then wound up in another for several months after the police found me in only my underwear walking along Woodward Ave. After tasering me, they took me to St. Joseph Mercy Oakland hospital near my house.

The doctors diagnosed me with paranoid schizophrenia and prescribed me antipsychotics, which helped with my hallucinations and delusions of grandeur to the point I could function.

At the end of my stay, they sent me to outpatient therapy, but because I had aged out of my father’s insurance plan and exhausted COBRA insurance, I couldn’t afford either my meds or therapy (Note this wass pre-ACA).

The Lost Five Years

I spent the next five years in a daze, not knowing what was real and could barely function. I’d go weeks without bathing, stopped caring for myself in general, and became a shut in, rarely going out or socializing in person or online. It was so bad at one point I stopped paying my bills and my heat was shut off during winter and my pipes burst because it was so cold.

I would have continued living like this had I not sought help.

A Light at The End of the Tunnel

As I approached 30, I realized I hadn’t accomplished anything I’d set out to do, and this triggered a quarter life. Slowly, I cleaned up my life, sought therapy and help from a psychiatrist, got on and stayed on meds for depression and schizophrenia, and pieced my life back together.

I haven’t had another psychotic break in the 8 years since I started seeing my psychiatrist. But I have had several episodes of depression over the years, and there were a few times I thought of killing myself, but a few adjustments of my meds helped sort me out.

My life isn’t perfect by any means, but I’m doing much better now compared to back in my twenties.

My hope is that by hearing my story it helps you.

If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health issues, know help is available. If you’re in the USA contact, the national suicide prevent lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or TEXT GO to 741741 to reach a trained Crisis Counselor through Crisis Text Line, a global not-for-profit organization. Free, 24/7, confidential. Help is also available at afsp.org or TEXT TALK to 741714.

IF you’re LGBTQ+ and in crisis, contact thetrevorproject.org for more resources geared toward you.

Hero Poem

Photo by  Władysław Tsimafeyeu  on  Scopio

 Right now, I know

You’re completely miserable,

A complete zero.

But know,

You’re a hero!

When you’re standing on that ledge,

About to concede defeat to the enemy,

Repeat after me:

I’m a hero.

Right now, I know you’re crying.

Cuz you’re so sick of hiding

Your pain.

It’s driving you insane.

Cuz there’s no denying,

Inside you’re dying.

And something must change.

Before you snuff out your flame,

Hear this refrain:

 Right now, I know

You’re completely miserable,

A complete zero.

But know

You’re a hero!

You’re not to blame

So stop with the shame

And proclaim:

I’m a hero.

 Let those tears flow,

Then get up and go.

If you or someone you know is struggling with their mental health or has thoughts of harming themselves, there is help.

In the US you can contact the national suicide prevention hotline at 1-800-273-825, or text GO to 741741 to reach a trained Crisis Counselor through Crisis Text Line, a global not-for-profit organization. Free, 24/7, confidential.

If you’re LGBTQ+ you can also contact www.therevorproject.org to talk to trained crisis counselors 24/7.

What Dealing with Depression has Taught Me About Writing

image by Martin Walls via freeimages.com
image by Martin Walls via freeimages.com
Introduction I was 13 when I had my first episode of depression. I lost all interest in things I used love doing and didn’t want to much but eat and sleep. My parents thought it was funny, not know this was more than mere teenage moodiness, and I learned to deal with it on my own. Over the years I dealt with depression off and on mostly during the winter and I am getting over the latest episode now. Writing has helped me make sense of my feelings and given me the confidence to pull myself out of the rut I’ve been in. Start Small One lesson I’ve learned is to start small. Things didn’t get to where they are overnight, so you shouldn’t expect them to change quick. Per my therapist’s request I started keeping a journal and that has helped me work through my issues get back in the groove. Whether it’s morning pages or a snarky tweet commit to writing something every day. It doesn’t have to be perfect or pretty, just get your words in and go from there. If you’re struggling to write there are plenty of websites with daily prompts to get you started. Whatever you choose stick with it. Celebrate Small Victories At the height of my depressive episode I don’t do much besides eat, sleep, and shit. But I’ve learned any day I get out of bed is a small victory. You have to stay positive and get your words in even when you don’t feel like it, because no one is going to live your life for you. You have to make the effort to change things and follow through on them.Set a time to write and show up to produce. Break it Down As I pull myself out of the funk I’m in it can seem like there’s so much to do that it’s overwhelming, but I’ve learned if you break things down into manageable tasks and do a bit each day that helps to alleviate a lot of my anxiety. So whether it’s a blog post, article, or a novel you’re working on just do a little each day, and bit by bit you’ll get to where you want to be. Commit to Finishing Journaling has helped me tremendously to put things in perspective. it doesn’t have to pretty or make sense. I just write until I hit my 500 word count and then move on. There will be good days and bad days. The trick is to commit to something until you’re done. Remember not everything you write will be good, but continue until the end anyways. Done is better than perfect, and it’s good practice. Get Out of Your Comfort Zone I’ve learned you can play it safe and stay isolating in your house, or choose to push yourself out of our comfort zone and start living life again. Sure it’s hard work at first the end result is worth it. This is true of writing too. You can stay in your comfort zone and never push yourself out of your bubble. Unless you’re constantly challenging yourself to push your limits you’ll stagnant. Shot to do a little bit better each day and hold yourself accountable to a higher standard. Conclusion Dealing with depression has taught me sometimes you have to fight for your happiness, and push beyond your fears and worries. Sure it wont be easy and you’ll want to quit, but you have the keys to your success. For more writing tips click here.

Therapy Thursday 1

I was the quintessential black nerd: glasses, asthma and would rather read the dictionary than play sports. Like many of my ilk I got teased for acting white e.g. speaking with proper diction, using correct grammar and doing well at school.

At first I ignored it but as the years wore on I couldn’t take it. I stopped caring about learning, and thought about suicide more and more each day. On particularly bad days I’d lock myself into the bathroom at home and cry my eyes out.

It was during these dark times I retreated to a fantasy world where I was strong, never got sick and didn’t take crap from anyone. As time wore on i build walls to keep everyone out. If nobody got in they couldn’t hurt. People come and go, it’s pointless to become attached became my motto.

I prided myself on being above petty emotions and using logic to solve my problems. But the truth was I hadn’t vanquished my emotions but merely suppressed them.

As the years rolled by I learned you can’t stay behind the walls you’ve built if you want live a full life. The first step came when I met my first boyfriend. He was shyer than I and that required me to drop my defenses and become more active. While we broke up we’re it not for me I’d probably still be living in my head.

Since then I’ve learned to let others in and although you will get hurt you will also stumble upon great friends like those in my critique group. I never would have met them if I didn’t take the plunge and come to the first meeting.

I was petrified and didn’t come back for a few months but once I started attending regular meeting I learned so much form them, chief among them that I could write and the main obstacle holding me back was my fear of rejection and not being good enough.

Thanks to them and Jeff Goins Tribe Writer program I’ve gained the confidence to complete two novels, and will begin work on a third shortly, all in less than a year. There have been some bumps along the road.

I went through a four moth depression spell beginning in January of this year. It was thanks to my critique group that I was able to claw my way out that pit and begin getting my life in order.

Writing has not only given me a voice and platform to share my message but has also become a form of therapy for me. I’m still in the habit of bottling everything up but I find writing out my thoughts and emotions before they become overwhelm me is like a soul colonic.

Over the past four years I’ve struggled with mental health issues but last week I took the fist steps to managing it by seeing a psychiatrist and scheduling weekly visits with a councilor. My appointment is tomorrow and I can’t wait.