A Face of Mental Illness

Stigma is a nasty ho.

yes. Stigma is a woman. A nasty woman that tells lies, alienates loved ones and kills.

Stigma kills.

Ho is too nice a word for stigma.

There is no proper word association for stigma because it kills, it separates families, it destroys lives.

The only way to get rid of stigma is to band together and silence the voice of stigma. Surround our fellow brothers and sisters who are suffering and fight back by educating and speaking up.

Speaking of, today I had the awesome opportunity to be apart of Kendra Kantor’s series The Real Faces of Mental Illness. (Taken from her site)

The Real Faces of Mental Illness is a monthly interview series from real people sharing their personal stories and experiences. I want to show people what it’s really like to have a mental illness and not hide behind medical terms and symptoms. I want to share what it’s like to live with these diseases, on a day to day basis and how it really looks and feels and what recovery really involves. I want to share the real face of mental illnesses. 

As y’all know I am one for busting down stigma’s door – so please join me as I open up about my struggle with postpartum psychosis and bipolar 2.

The Real Faces of Mental Illness: Jessica and Postpartum Depression/Psychosis and Bipolar 2

Oh the pain!!

Oh the stinking inking pain! My body is killing me and I feel like I’m dying.

Sometimes I swear I have fibromyalgia but I read an article from Natasha Tracy (sorry can’t find the link), that it’s common for people with bipolar to get body aches as severe as mine.

I mean it’s not like my pain is constant…But then I think it’s also common for people with bipolar to have fibromyalgia too. Or is that pain constant?

I don’t know.

I just wanted to complain – I’m in pain. I can’t even get comfortable in bed.

What do you think? Fibromyalgia? Regular bipolar pain? Or should I just shaddup and see the doctor?

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I failed miserably today

Miserably.

I just saw myself spiraling down the hellish drain but I didn’t take my meds in time.

I didn’t escape in time.

I failed.

Maybe I should start over. Overstimulation and rage met today, over a mix of depression and self loathing.

It was overshadowed by the fact that my two kids, we shall here forth call them the boy and the girl, were very needy for their depressed riddled mommy.

So like a good mommy fighting a losing battle I fought for my kids and sat with them watching veggie tales and that’s when the evil monster hit me hard.

I closed my eyes and prayed, with every climb into and out of my lap I prayed. Then I had to clench my eyes.

The tears came.

The gentle playful tug of my son climbing back into my lap hurt my skin so badly I cried that deep soulful cry quietly.

I didn’t want to scare them.

Then my daughter turned to look at me; hands covering my face teeth biting my bottom lip. “Mommy you praying?”

“Mm-hmm”; was all I could reply as her voice grated my ears. Making the tears fall faster.

Will this pain stop God please?

Then.

My failure.

For the 100th time my son fell off my lap playfully and my daughter turned to give me something.

I melted down and scared my babies. “STOP TOUCHING ME!!!”

My husband came into the room and took the kids away.

…….

I should’ve walked away sooner, I should’ve known I couldn’t handle it. I should’ve…..been better.

God.

Why.

After crying and finishing my meltdown, I went to the kids to console them. Then we had the talk that I’ve been avoiding for 3 years. “The mommys sick” talk.

The boy took it well, I don’t think the girl understood. We’ll just hafta see.

I hope I don’t screw them up.

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The evil monster

I hate when the evil monster comes out to play. I can be happy as a clam and all of a sudden – boom. “What are you doing touching that?” “Why are you screaming?!” Or “stop touching me!”

It’s usually the latter one.

I hate overstimulation. It sucks greatly making me curl into a ball trying to shut out the world, because it’s just too much.

I don’t even know what I’m going to say next because someone keeps touching my foot and I’m trying not to lose it.

Why does this hafta be so hard?

I know I’m just going through a plateau on my meds and need an up or something but this sucks. I can’t even think right now

Perpetuating the Stigma

So today on my Facebook feed I saw something that got my britches in a hitch. Something entitled (along these lines, I’m not gonna link the Neanderthal or make it easy to find his site) Robin Williams died from suicide not depression. I, of course, clicked over and read the anger filled hate filled post.

The more I read, the more sad I got. Not only because someone died believing the lies their own brain told them – but that there are people out there that are showing ignorance and disdain for those who suffer from a mental illness.

The person who wrote the post was so hateful, it made me think that they lost someone to suicide and never fully dealt with it. You see, as a survivor of a suicide attempt, when you are staring down the eye of suicide; it’s not starting at you harshly back. It’s looking at you longingly, knowingly, with a plate of chocolate chip cookies saying warm sweet nothing’s to you. While your brain, continues to throw arrows of deceit at you: “no one loves you” “you’re too ugly” “you’re family doesn’t need you” “you’re a hack” “you’ll never amount to nothing”.

Yes, I agree with the writer; suicide is not the answer. If you’re struggling, please reach out. To a friend, to a family member, me or even the lifeline 800-273-TALK (8255) http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

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But his talk? Is not the answer. Depression is a real disease, bipolar is a real disease (I’m not sure which one Mr. Williams suffered from). There are such things as people having a mental illness. I know it’s hard for someone who doesn’t have a mental illness to understand, but we aren’t lying. We do have our faith. But we do need to take pills, we aren’t failures because of that. We aren’t lied to. We are just hurting.

What does that talk do? Just stop others from getting the help they need. So in this case? Having a differing opinion? Can be harming.

Think before you talk.

My husband is a better mom

I’m serious. Sometimes I think my husband is a better mom. He’s more patient, acts as a buffer to my craziness, more understanding of the kids.

I mean, I’m not counting myself out. I’m a mighty good mom. I fight everyday for my kids, yeah some days I lose but I know tomorrow is another day – it’s fresh with no mistakes in it. So I keep fighting, but I married a good man.

He’s got his moments like any human being in his circumstances, but he … He really has missed his calling as they say. Wait that came out wrong.

Well, you know what I mean. I married a good man, he’s got a hard situation; living with me(I am a special handle to deal with child), working two jobs, living with his in-laws, barely seeing his kids. But he stays joyful, faithful, loving and praying to God almighty that our situation gets better.

I’m blessed to have such a great man like him at my side. Helping me, caring for me and the kids when life gets too tough for me.

I love ya baby, thanks for being such a good mom when the crazy gets in the way.

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A new day

20140502-191756.jpgJust like that – boom.

I’m feeling a bit better….or is it bitter?

God help me.

I woke up this morning with a determination to not sulk behind the screen and lose myself in netflix land. Does that mean I’m better?

I don’t know.

All I know is I hafta keep my mind busy or I will find myself on those sites sulking in my depression again, hating myself and wishing I was never born.

Who am I kidding? I feel that way now….I’m just able to drag my figgy butt up and do stuff.

Lord willing

Mixed

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I’m nearing the point of total emotional breakdown. I saw this and almost cried, though I doubt it has anything to do with the minionness of it.

I’m in a mixed episode. I’ve been depressed for the past month, not caring, but then boom a day of sunshine. Silly ole me thought it was a break.

Maybe it was.

But then here I am back again.

I told my pdoc about the month long depressive episode (did I tell y’all he changed my diagnosis back to major depressive disorder? Sheesh. I need to find a new doc), he was confused. I wanted to yell at him telling him it’s because he misdiagnosed me. But then I knew that would mean the crazy would win and I can’t let that happen.

Anyways, he asked what started it all. When I told him I woke up like that – that’s when he got confused.

I don’t know anymore. What am I doing?

Why can’t this be easier Lord?

Please God help me. I hate the yelling and the anger and the pain in my soul.

Deliver me Lord.

The other side

You ever wonder what the other side is like?

How can they live without the paranoia…

How can they live without the anxiety….

Without the depression…

Without the ups and downs….

How can they live without the rage…

What is it like to not have the self doubt constantly lingering in your head…

I know I’ve said God has a reason for this disease and that I’m okay with having this.

But the crushing overstimulation and the rage and the overspending….makes me wonder what the other side of life lives like.

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