Thank You For Your Patience

To all my friends and family, new and old, thank you. 

Yesterday, I discovered something earth shattering. I have lost myself. In the pursuit of “finding myself” and getting help, I lost who I am. For many reasons, I’m not the person I once was. And I thank you for sticking by my side.

My journey with taking medication for my mental illness has turned my life upside down. I’m unpredictable. I never know if I’ll wake up to a good and happy day, or to a low and depressed day. I’ve been all over the place. I’ve been desperate, I’ve been angry, and I’ve been self absorbed. And I am sorry. 

I finally put some puzzle pieces together and came to the realization that my mood stabilizer has not been helpful. In fact, it’s well on my way to turning me into a zombie. I don’t like that. I’ve become emotionless, I’ve lost sight of the meaning in anything. I’ve lost the joy that comes from my writing, half the time I don’t even enjoy drinking my coffee anymore!

Last night, I was too bad off to even think about possibly watching Netflix. All I could do was lay on my sofa and daydream the misery away. I tried calling my dad, but that didn’t help for the most part. I was told to go to the hospital if I needed to. I needed encouragement, not fear. 

For anyone who knows me, you know how I am. I’m full of emotion, love, kindness, and passion. I get excited over the smallest things. I dream big. I have goals for myself. I love to travel. I explore and have adventures every chance I get. I like to look up at the stars, and I like to dance in the rain. Or, hail if I’m not wearing my glasses and I think it’s raining!

I haven’t been fully me since I began my journey with medication. Honestly, yes, it helped me get out of bed during a Depressive Episode, but now what? It’s just causing me more misery. And costing a shit ton of money! Seriously, so much damn money!

My “cure” isn’t going to be found in a little white pill. It isn’t going to be found in a big self help Workbook. No, it’s going to be found by living life again. By starting school back up and by traveling. It’s going to come on a day when I’m alive and well. Not when I’m hiding away from the world on my little patio drinking coffee and chain smoking. 

So, to those of you who stand by my side, thank you. Thank you for being there even when I have not been myself. Thank you for reminding me of my strength and my love. I’ll get back to me soon enough, please continue being patient as I try to find myself in this mess again. 



I’m Having Trouble Feeling Today

Some mornings, I wake up ready to take on the world. I’m inspired, happy, mornings tend to be the best part of my day. However, not lately. And especially not today. I don’t know if it’s because I forgot and had to take my medication a little later than normal, or if it’s because of an onset of a Depressive Episode. I just don’t know. 

What I do know is that I’m tired. I got a shitty night sleep and it took me hours to get up this morning. I’ve sat outside drinking my coffee and felt nothing. No inspiration, no joy, not even sadness. These are the days that scare me. 

Days when I can’t feel, those are the worst days. I want to curl up and hide away from the world, I don’t even have the energy to watch tv. Nothing matters on days like this.

 I don’t know how to pull myself out of it, I don’t know whether or not it’ll lead to self harm. So, I let my best friend know so that she’s aware in case things go badly.

Days like these, I don’t know how to help myself. I’m lost. I’m broken. I need to feel again, but I don’t enjoy anything. I don’t have the energy to do anything. 


Choose Happy

I’ve seen a lot of posts downing the fact that people say to just choose happiness. While I understand that for people with an illness it’s difficult, it’s still helpful. And it’s the one thing that’s helped me most. 

I’ll be the first to admit, there are days I call my sister crying because I just don’t see the point to life anymore. I get lost in the darkness, I can’t see any form of happiness. And being told to be happy just angers me. If I could be happy, I would be! But that doesn’t mean that on the days when you aren’t in the darkness, you still can’t choose happy. 

Yesterday could have easily been spent in complete solitude. Just myself, running errands and chilling at home. But, I knew I wanted to be happy. I knew that stopping by Target on my way home to buy Christmas decor was not going to make me happy like I convinced myself it would. So, I actively chose to be happy. 

I went over to see my sister and her family. By sister, I mean best friend ever. I got to see her new little baby girl, I got to hug my 6 year old niece. We spent time laughing together and just hanging out together like we used to, it was much needed. 

Now, I’m faced with a choice. And I hope I chose the right one. There are two paths I could take. One full of safety and knowing what’s coming next. The other, comes with a little risk but, the happiness is so much greater. And I have to make this choice for myself. Not worrying about anyone else’s reactions to it, those are not my responsibility. My only responsibility is to be respectful and kind. 

Life is full of choices. The choice is usually, are we going to react positively or negatively? I try my best to react positively to everything life throws at me. Sure, it may not be possible to always be positive, but trust me, it’s worth the effort. 


Where Were You Before?

For me, the most confusing part about receiving help for mental illness isn’t the different diagnosis, the different medications, or the things you discover about yourself. No, not these at all. For me, the most confusing part of it all is the way people react. And their lovely opinions. 

My question for all of you who have given me “advice” is, where were you when it’s all started? Where was your heartfelt advice when I was lost and confused? Where were you when I was looking for which direction to go? 

Before I continue this, I want to make one thing clear. I appreciate and understand where you are coming from. I know you think you’re saying what’s best for me. And I truly appreciate that. But you have to realize that sometimes, more harm than good comes from unwanted advice. 

Before I started seeking help, that’s when I would have loved to hear stories of how you’re perfectly fine without medication. I would have loved to here the words, “just keep pushing,” and I would have loved to hear your thoughts on my illnesses. But, I’ve chosen a path and I’m going to honor it. 

My parents, they have been the most confusing of them all. You’d think they’d be the most supportive considering my mother has been on medication for years for her illness. But, she’s got a physical illness, she’s not getting help for a mental illness. 

I’ve been told I need a new psychiatrist because my parents weren’t fond of the new diagnosis I received. They looked up symptoms for Bipolar and made it sound like, oh, anyone could fall into this category. No, no they can’t. And to top it all off, they think I’m on too many medications. 

My best friend, I asked her one day if this was all worth it. If the struggle with medication is creating more harm than good. She said she didn’t think it was worth it, however, I couldn’t get out of bed. So, I’m taking that as she doesn’t know either. 

Another friend, she wants to pray me off medication. She believes if my faith is built stronger and I turn to God more that I can get off of medication. I don’t need it. While I agree there is no harm in rebuilding my faith stronger, I have a need for my medication. 

And a friend now believes I can be perfectly fine without medication. That, my illness can be easily managed because it’s not as bad as another illness. She believes CBD oil (oil from cannabis without the THC) could help me tremendously. While I’m willing to give that a try, I know I need more than that. 

What it comes down to, is this is about me. For the first time, I’m truly having to take care of myself as an adult. I’m having to set boundaries while still pushing myself out of my comfort zone. I’m having to trust the choices I’ve made for myself. That I just might know what’s best for me. 

The beginning of seeking help came with a lot of support. Everyone pushed me to be one medication, to seek out a psychiatrist. But, once we found out I had more problems than originally thought, the support diminished. Now, they expect me to continue to listen to them because it was them who started me on this path to begin with.

Well, here I am politely saying, no. You no longer get to decide for me which path I should take. While the path of medication wasn’t my first choice, and at times it gets difficult, this is where I’m going to remain. I’m going to stick it out until I find what works for me. 

My first medication, my first antidepressant, it no longer works. I’m still on it, though. I agree that I should ask about getting off of it. My ADD medication, it works wonders. While I don’t get the “high” that I used to from it, I’m able to think clearly for most of the day. This is a miracle! And my newest, an antipsychotic (mood stabilizer), has been working great as well. Sure, it’s not the same as when I first started, but I can tell that my moods are beginning to level out. It’s not turning me into a zombie, and I like that. 

So, please, trust me when I say that I trust myself. I appreciate your concern, but right now I don’t need any doubts that I might not be doing what is best. I just need your continued support and love. I’m getting better, and that’s what matters. 


In A Bad Mood

I’m feeling rebellious. I feel like I need my black eyeshadow and some sky high heels. I feel cuss words and middle fingers calling my name. I want to listen to Halestorm and enjoy my bad attitude. 

My mom called, I was rude. I didn’t feel sorry. I haven’t had this teenage rebellious attitude in a while. Is it because my Netflix binge watching got interrupted? Is it because my dog has to constantly be touching me? Maybe I’ve just gone too long without any excitement. 

But then, I begin to wonder. Is this a sign of my newly identified Bipolar ll Disorder? Is this the beginning of a manic episode? Am I irritable because of my illness or because I’m just feeling a natural human emotion? I’m beginning to question everything now. 

Can I control this attitude? Or is it something out of my control? How long will it last? I’ve been easily irritated for weeks now. Off and on. I never used to yell at my dog, but I find myself getting angry with him. Is this how my mania starts? What’s going to happen to me? 

I’m not currently in an episode of mania or depression. I know that. I’m not super happy, cleaning and active. But I’m also not belittling myself and feeling totally worthless. A little worthless, but not completely. I feel stuck in this phase. I don’t know how to function when I’m here. This time between episodes, I’m lost. 

I will try to finish my Netflix binge watching. Maybe I’ll have enough energy to clean something. I don’t know. I just wonder how long it’ll be until I realize what my mania and Depressive Episodes are. 


The Hardest Pill I’ve Had To Swallow

I was just beginning to think, not too long ago, that maybe there is a cure for me. Maybe my depression and anxiety actually weren’t caused by a chemical imbalance in my brain. Maybe I’d developed these over the years because of the traumas I have experienced. Maybe if I learn to let those go, I’d be free from my struggles. 

That thought process came to a crashing hault yesterday morning. I was nervous about asking my psychiatrist for a medical card. I should have been nervous for a while other reason. That day, it changed my life. 

“I’m giving you the diagnosis of Bipolar 2.”

Excuse me, what was that?

There is no cure. There is only treatment. That’s all I knew about bipolar. This is something I’m going to deal with for the rest of my life. This is something probably inherited from a family member. This is something huge. 

While I know nothing has changed, I feel as though my entire world has been turned upside down. I’m starting to doubt myself, to doubt my future. 

Will I get worse? Will I turn into one of those women in movies with bipolar disorder? Will I ever make any sense? Will anyone ever want to love me? And if they do, how can I even begin to think about having a family? How would I be able to sleep at night knowing that my children will one day suffer as I have because I was selfish enough to bring them into this world, despite knowing mental illness runs in the family? How am I going to cope with this? Who is ever going to want someone like me in their life? Where did I go wrong? What did I do to deserve this? Will I ever accomplish anything? How do I keep myself from going crazy? 

I’m scared. I had just accepted the fact that I have mental illnesses. I just accepted my ADD. It took me a decade to get the help I’m getting now. And now, I’m bipolar? 

I don’t know what any of this means. I never thought this would happen to me. I feel like crying, but I can’t. My mind is telling me two things. One, “be calm, it’s not the end of the world. You could have worse, it’s not a big deal.” And two, “why are you not freaking the hell out right now? Your life is over! There’s another damn reason you shouldn’t continue to go on. Just go to bed and cry already!”

The worst part of all this is, they were right. My abusers, they’ve been right all along. There is something mentally wrong with me. I do need serious help. Fuck. They were right. 

I’m beginning to even understand them. No wonder they treated me in such horrible ways, I deserved it. I am worthless. I am crazy. They had every right to treat me as such. I’m ashamed. 

There’s a small part of me that’s saying, “stop” as I write this. It’s saying that I’m wrong. If anything, I deserved help, comfort, and love. It’s beginning to make me look at my abusers with even more disgust than before. How dare they take advantage of such a weak mind? What kind of person must they be to abuse someone for years who has suffered from mental illness? 

Then the argument continues, they didn’t know. It’s okay, they had no idea how bad you were. But they must have known. They must have seen it. I was a mess. I couldn’t function. What’s even going on in my mind right now? 

I don’t know where to begin. I don’t know what to do or how to cope with this. I don’t know how I’m going to continue living like this for the rest of my life. I’m strong, though. I’m a fighter. I know I won’t give in to it. But right now, I’m scared and I’m alone. I’m confused and I’m hopeless. 


My Hope For Today

Today is probably the most important day I’ve had in quite a while. Today, my words way heavy. They mean help or they mean pain. In communicating my needs, I’m not very good. I’m afraid I’ll come off as manipulating or desperate. Which I am neither of those, only been falsely accused of them. 

Last night, I slept on my sofa from 8pm to 10pm. I moved to my bed. In which I didn’t sleep at all. I laid there, decided to check the time. It was 2am. I turned over, unable to fall asleep. The next thing I knew, my alarm clock was going off at 6am. I tried to sleep but got up at 8am. I’m miserable. 

I have to be as honest as I ever have been with my psychiatrist today. I need to open up, I need her to hear me. I can’t keep living life in this way. Antidepressants don’t work, antipsychotics haven’t helped for longer than a week. I don’t know how to keep moving forward like this. I can barely eat. I can barely sleep. 

I’ve never truly struggled with insomnia. Sure, there have been nights I kept myself awake due to anxiety. But it was on purpose, I always fell asleep at some point. This, this is just torture. Not being able to sleep, having my one damn escape taken from me, where do I turn? 

I refuse to take sleep aids. I’m not going to do it. I don’t care how much they claim to help, I don’t want to end up in that state. I’ve seen what they do to people, I refuse to let myself become that. Just an empty shell of a person. No, I will do anything to keep myself from that life. 

Today, two things are on my mind. What do I do about my antipsychotic? And, may I please have my medical card? 

Between the lack of appetite, the lack of sleep, the PTSD flashbacks, the anxiety, the attacks, the depression, I’m beginning to wonder if anything will help. I need something to help. 


To the Guy Brave Enough to Date the Emotionally Abused Girl

She’s waited for you for a long time. She might even still be waiting on you. But, she knows good doesn’t come easily so, she doesn’t mind waiting for you. She’s hoped for so long that you’re out there, somewhere. 

There’s a few things you need to know before you get her hopes up. If she’s anything like me, she’ll already have her hopes up thinking, “this could be the man that finally treats me with respect.” But just because she’s hopeful, doesn’t mean she’ll be easy to win over. 

You need to know her past. You need to acknowledge that this is something deep and important to her. Because, well, you won’t truly be able to understand her without knowing her past. Her past is what made her into who stands before you today. 

Talk with her about it, let her open up to you. Listen when she starts getting quiet, those are the words that hurt the most. Be patient, be kind. And whatever you do, never use these things against her. 

She’s been taken advantage of, she’s been mentally messed with. She’s been manipulated to believe she’s crazy or that she’s done something wrong when she hasn’t. She’s been told she’s worthless, she’s nothing. And she struggles every day to not believe those things. 

But do not confuse her for being weak. No, she’s not weak. She’s the strongest most compassionate person you will meet. She will love so deeply once she trusts you, she will make you wonder how in the hell someone could ever say anything bad to her. What a beautiful mind she has. 

Show her how important she is to you. From the very beginning. Make an effort, no one has ever done that before for her. She’s not your typical girl. She’ll apologize for nothing, she’ll constantly worry about how you feel. Make her feel loved, protected. These are very rare in her life. Go out of your way to show her she means something to you. Don’t be afraid, be kind. Be loving. Be gentle. 

Show her how wonderful she is, and she’ll do everything in her power to do the same. 


I’ve Got An Attitude Again

Turns out, I was right. Prescription medication is bullshit. All along, this past decade, I knew it was bullshit. However, I hit a weak moment. I listened to what others told me to do. I got on medication. Then, they turned around and told me I was on too much medication. I’m sorry, but what is the exact amount of medication that you feel comfortable with me being on, exactly? Do you know of a magical cure-all pill that solves all my fucking problems? No? Okay, then let me do me. 

I watched my mom struggle and go through hell with her medication. With her doctors, her insurance, everything was a pain. I watched her have no life in her. I watched her suffer in pain even though she took countless pills. Nothing helped her fully. Now, I’m feeling her pain. 

Let me say this, first. I do not believe that getting medical attention and taking medication is a sign of weakness, not at all! This is the bravest thing I’ve ever had to do. It takes all sorts of strength I didn’t know I even had just to make it out of bed each morning. So, if you’re fighting this battle alongside me, know, you’re a badass. 

But, let’s be real for a minute. Anyone who has ever tried going down the path of taking medication for mental illness knows for a fact, it’s all bullshit. It’s a damn guessing game! 

“Hm… well, this last one didn’t do anything so let’s try this one, hopefully it doesn’t make me want to kill myself.”

You may think I’m being dramatic, I’m not. One of the many side effects of antidepressants is literally, “may cause suicidal thoughts.” Yes, wonderful! Let’s give a suicidal person, or better yet, someone whose never seriously contemplated suicide a freaking medication that, well, may cause them to want to die. Great idea, guys. Brilliant. 

My first ever interaction with an antidepressant was when I was about 11. It made me want to stab something, just to see what it felt like. What kind of messed up world is this? At 11 I was so violent I scared myself. 

At age 21, I was prescribed Prozac. Guess what, any change to this medication and I’m suicidal. Yeah, dose going up? Want to kill myself. Dose going down? Want to kill myself. Dose staying the same? Want to lie in bed and cry all day. 

At age 22, the real fun began. My Prozac had stopped working completely. So, I was given a new antidepressant. It wouldn’t be for about four months before my psychiatrist finally realized, it wasn’t working. After straight up telling her, it does nothing. 

Then, I was given a medication for my ADD. This medication was a life saver. It cured my anxiety, depression, and ADD in one go. It was perfect. That is, until it wore off. As I would crash from this medication, I would fall into some of the deepest pits of depression and anxiety I had ever seen. The isolation and loneliness was all consuming. I was lost. I would desperately reach out to absolutely anyone for help. They tried their best, but they couldn’t help me. 

After that, I had my dose go up and then she added yet another ADD medication. This one worked even better than the first! So much focus, so much energy. Then, I took it while feeling anxious. That was a mistake. I had an anxiety attack so odd that I was being asked to please, go to the hospital. I didn’t. My friend came over and helped me. I flushed them the next day. 

So, we decided to try a different ADD medication and take those two away. All while still on two antidepressants that weren’t doing a damn thing. This medication, I couldn’t sit still, I couldn’t focus, I was uncontrollable. It was hell that week. I got off that and went back to my other two. 

Now, we’re caught up to where I currently am today. The two ADD medications work much smoother now that I’m used to them. I don’t get that “high” anymore, and I don’t get the crash, either. That’s pretty much taken care of. Now, we need to figure out what the hell is going on with my depression. Nothing has been working. 

I was taken off that new antidepressant and put on a lovely, antipsychotic. Basically, a mood stabilizer. For the first week, I was in heaven. I was finally myself after years of being this other person. I had my motivation back. I was happy again. I was content. Then, I fucked up. I forgot to take it one night. Now, it no longer works. I’m back to self harm, doing nothing, feeling as though there is no purpose to my existence. I hate this medication the most. It gave me myself, then viciously took it away from me. I hate it with everything I have. 

Now, I guess I’m back to square one with depression? I don’t know. Maybe she just needs to up the dose, maybe I need something completely different. Maybe I have an issue I have yet to be diagnosed with that isn’t being treated properly. Who the hell knows? 

Tomorrow, I will be as honest as I can be. Straight up, and straight forward. This shit ain’t working. I want to try something else. I want to try something I know for a fact helps me. And I believe that along with the medication, can almost cure me. Medical marijuana. I so desperately need to try this. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, my PTSD is driving me insane. I’m miserable.

I’m beginning to wonder if this path was even worth it. I know that if I can feel the way I felt when I started my antipsychotics, it would be worth it. But this, this is hell. Medication for mental illness is ridiculous. Why do we not know more? Why do we just play a guessing game with it all? Sometimes, the pain that comes from these drugs can be worse than the pain you originally dealt with. I don’t even remember how it felt without medication. Was it worse? Was it better? Did I really suffer enough to the point that it makes all of this worth it? I don’t remember. But, I’m here. And I’m not giving up just yet. 

I Can’t Even Tell if This Makes Sense 

I’m strong woman, but this last week I’ve been someone who I am not. This worries me. I’ve become desperate, emotional, lonely, negative, and just plain sad. 

I fight every night the urge to text the guy I like, giving him all my problems hoping he will save me. I cry because I want so badly for someone to come over and just be with me. I have day dreams that turn to nightmares. I can’t sleep at night. I can’t wake up in the morning. I can’t laugh like I used to. I can’t even smile like before. 

Is this because of my depression? Or, is this because of my medication? Because, ever since the day I accidentally skipped, a week ago, I haven’t been the same. 

A week ago, I didn’t take my mood stabilizer. I skipped a day. I’d only been taking it for a week and a half, I didn’t think much of it. But damn, have I regretted that night since. 

Before I skipped, I was happy. I was myself for the first time in years. I was motivated! I did all my laundry, cleaned my apartment, I was happy. Sure, depression found its way back to me each night. But if I’d just had a little bit of weed, I’d been fine. Nothing I couldn’t handle. 

The morning after I skipped my medicine, I woke up as any normal day. Then, as time went on, I became worse. I broke down. I couldn’t function. I had an anxiety attack. All the harmful words that have ever been spoken to me, all the harmful actions ever taken against me, I felt them all in a wave of abuse pouring over my soul. I couldn’t get up. 

I self harmed that day. Not for my usual reason, because I felt numb, but because I felt all too much. The pain was overwhelming me. I couldn’t bear it. I needed to feel something other than the sadness. I cut my arm. Because I believed I deserved it. Because all the abusive things stuck in my head, they were telling me how worthless I was. 

The next day was a little better. I took my medication and was for the most part, stable. But something has been off since that day. Something has drastically changed. I thought, “oh, maybe it’s just building back up in my system.” It hasn’t reached that high point I was feeling since my attack. 

I fight to stay out of bed, I struggle to keep myself from napping. I sit outside, overwhelmed by nothingness. I’ve made endless plans, how I will recover. None of them happen, that motivation I had is now gone. I’m afraid I’ll never get it back. 

The only time I ever feel relief is when I’m with someone else. That’s it. If I’m hanging out with a friend, I can ignore the bigger issues. But, friends can’t always be there. 

I hardly even have my will to write anymore. This has been fairly easy to write up until now. Now, I’m not sure if it makes sense, if it means anything. There must be a better way I can write all of this. But, I’ll stick with it. I’ll give this piece my best. 

My joy is gone, that damn medicine stole my light. It gave it to me, all at once, then took it away. I’m lost, I don’t know where to find it again. 

I sit here, with my fur baby. I wait for tomorrow. Tomorrow brings hope for me. Tomorrow I have an appointment with my psychiatrist. I can tell her all that’s gone wrong, maybe she can fix it. I hope she can fix it.