Coming to terms with my mental health has been an ongoing battle for as long as I can remember. I can vividly remember stumbling through life, feeling stuck in a deep hole at just 12 years old. I didn’t know what I was feeling was not normal, no one talked about preteens and the possibility of them being depressed or struggling with their mental health. Yet, there I was fighting depression. And instead of acknowledging it and working toward getting help I chalked it up to me being too sensitive and I needed to get over it. After a few years I started high school and threw myself into getting involved in hopes that keeping busy would keep me occupied. And it did. But I also managed to find people that were overwhelmingly supportive and helped me to get through the darkest times. It was during this time that I found someone that was my warrior, constantly trying to help me discuss what was going on and educate me. She took it upon herself to try to help me understand and label my mental illness. Of course, I was very hesitant to admit that I was struggling, and it usually led to fights. However, she didn’t give up on pushing me and eventually I decided to suck it up and come to terms with the fact that something wasn’t quite right. This was devastating. I didn’t want to be labeled, and sure as hell didn’t want to have to tell anyone what I was going through. Just her. She could be the only person that knew. I couldn’t tell my parents, not my friends, I didn’t want to be the “crazy one” in the family or in my friend group. So, I kept it to myself and didn’t tell anyone.

For 21 years I’ve struggled to express my emotion in a calm and collected way, I began writing my thoughts down and sending them to my family and friends so for once they could understand a little into what’s going on in my head. For those who live with bpd this isn’t a story on how I turned my life around and become in control, so if you’re needing an inspiring story or some reassurance this is not for you. This is to express the pain, anger and confusion people with bpd feel every single day with every choice they make, from choosing what to wear to making plans with a friend, decision making is hard and not as easygoing as we once thought.

Stress is the biggest trigger for me when it comes to relapse. It’s one of the most shaming experiences about addiction to go through, in my opinion. Having to be honest when I relapse to the people who care about me is difficult. I want so much for things to be better for everybody, not just myself. To hear the disappointment in their voice or to see it in their face gives me feelings of failure and hopelessness. And when I saw my counselor today we agreed that I should not have to start counting my days over. Because, for me, having to start over gives me a good excuse to get a case of the “f*** it’s”. I know from past experience with other addictions I’ve had, having to “start over” gives me permission to continue on a relapse.

Hmmmmm where do I begin..

Forgiveness

My boyfriend, Caleb, and I met due to our shared interest in superheroes, specifically, at Marvel‘s Endgame premiere night. Whether we watched a Marvel or DC Comics’ film, we always left the theater with strong opinions about the new storylines. Our opinions agreed for the most part, that is until Todd Phillips’ recent film Joker. Caleb was astonished by not only the quality of the film, but also its strong message on mental health. He is convinced that the movie is the ideal advocate for mental health and he is not the only one.

Who is Patrick Bateman?

The physical health of Europeans is improving, yet the same cannot be said for mental health. Whereas public health has been a priority, it is mostly focused on physical health and disease prevention, with mental health being secondary. Nonetheless, suicide accounts for 1.4 percent of deaths worldwide and is the second most prominent cause of death amongst young people. The act of suicide should not be considered an individual issue, but rather one that affects that person’s family, their surroundings and society in general.

I was fairly late to the anxiety party, I can't say it was one I particularly wanted to be invited to after hanging around the depression get-togethers for too long.

There was something wrong with me.

A lot of times, you hear people with medical or mental health conditions "disown" their diagnoses. They refrain from saying "my cancer", or, "my anxiety"—and for good reason. It has been shown that by separating yourself from your illness, you don't take on the negative attributes; you are not your illness.

There's a certain strength that comes along with being honest about where you need to be met.

Forgiveness

Shivering violently, Evie did not know if she shook from the frigid temperatures or an oncoming bug, “I should have gone to The Holy Evangel Mission earlier tonight. I would endure one more hellfire and brimstone sermon if it meant a warm bed.”

I spent about 5 solid years of trying to get sober and completely failing. There are a multitude of reasons, in recovery from drugs and alcohol, why people come up short. I like to tell people that you get in what you put out in this deal, it wasn't until I put my heart and soul into getting sober that I was finally able to create a brand new life, I sit here today almost 5 years sober. I want to talk about what I believe to be the most important component for me getting sober. Human connection. That is what got me to where I am today if I had to simplify it. There are several ways to find support for your recovery and I can't stress enough how vital it is that you take advantage of each form of support.

Committing myself to a lover with Bipolar disorder, CPTSD, and a crippling, low self esteem was not an overnight decision. I took an extensive amount of time researching and plodding over the data, the case studies, the sheer amount of information. I knew in my heart, in the deepest wells of my capacity, that these were merely hurdles. The love I had and still have for this person, my person, would overcome any disease, or illness, or disorder, and, in that aspect I am right. Still, the evening of his attempted suicide has not disappeared from my recollection. We do not speak of that night. He has not read my disparaging journal entries, he has never been able to account for my despair, and understandably so. It must be incredibly hard to accept that your pain has bled into your lover, staining her. Writing this, I am in no way placing responsibility on him to acknowledge my grief. This grief is my own, and it has been wiped away without malice, but wiped away it has been. Maybe you are in a similar situation. Perhaps you are reading this, because you too, have trauma that is unfortunately an afterthought in the healing process. How do we navigate this? How do we hold such tragedy in our hearts without the support of our first line of defenses, our lover? I am taking your hand here. I want to write, no, I am called to write this, so you know this is not a confined trauma within you. I know your pain. I live with a pain similar to yours. While I am no expert, I would like to shed light on some of my struggles, and some of the beautifully sad advice I have learned and discovered along my way towards my personal recovery.

ADHD, Major Depression, Major Anxiety and Social Anxiety. Those are my medical diagnoses.

For many, the holidays are a time of love, joy and celebration. Filled with smiles, family, and good food. For me and many people with mental illness, it can be the worst time of year. Full of expectations, reflecting on the past year and having therapists on vacation.

At every stage of an individual's life, there comes times when outside factors/possibilities come to play. Some of these are totally understandable and logical, others are things that are anxiety inducing or will lead you into situations that cause you to overthink.

Anxiety is a very physical representation of a mental experience.  It is yet another validation that our thoughts and emotions are not separate from the physical body and do not merely exist in a magical ether.

About 1 in 8 children feel anxious, it is a natural emotion, but having responses in place can provide support. There are practical tips you can put in place to support anxious learners on a daily basis, from a lay point of view. Changing your way of thinking about anxiety, fear, and worry is not a therapy device and does not replace the role of counsellors or therapy sessions. But over time you can form an automatic response routine.

What started out as a misdiagnosis in my teens slowly turned into a nightmare. I went from an outgoing energetic person to a miserable shut in who never left the house except for work and necessities. I had no desire to be around friends and family, isolating myself from everyone except online interactions. I was on my last string of fighting off my demons before I finally asked for help from my family.

My father is bipolar (BP), he goes through periods where he calls me so excited he can barely contain himself. He tells me he has the best new idea to make him millions. He anxiously describes the stories he is writing. When I see him in person he is clean, shaven, and a healthy weight. I cannot smell the remnants of alcohol on his breath. He smiles, he laughs from the pit of his stomach, and he is kind to me. Other times, I cannot get a hold of my father for weeks, when I stop by his house to make sure he is alive - the house is trashed, he has not eaten, or showered in days. He is unable to return any calls and empty alcohol bottles riddle the floor. So it goes, a constant cycle. Growing up I assumed he just did not care, when he did not show to pick me up on his scheduled days; I assumed he had more important things to do. The cruel reality is my father’s genetic makeup controls his life. When he is manic, he is ecstatic, he is responsible and present. Comparatively, when he is depressed, I watch him slip slowly away into the abyss.

I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder about 14 years ago and I must admit, it was a relief to know there was something wrong with me, something tangible I could label, a way to understand the inner turmoil; it felt good to know other people were like me too, it felt good to know there was a reason (chemical imbalance I was told). Before the diagnosis, I just thought I was fucking crazy and was too scared to tell people the real truth, the ups and downs and sometimes the daily mood swings which totally controlled me. I hid it all out of fear. Fear that people would not understand. I knew something from quite a young age; I knew I was different in some way.

Hmmmmm where do I begin..

Seasonal Anxiety is when a person struggles with anxiety caused by being around their family during the Christmas Season. To be clear – this is not Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD).

Living with a mood disorder has been the hardest "obstacle" in my life; I say obstacle because that is exactly what it is. My disorder blocks my way and prevents me from making progress within. Throughout my teenage years I always had a gut-wrenching feeling that something was wrong with me, I didn't believe my thoughts were normal and it scared me; my mindset was in shambles and I had no idea how to cope.

Coming to terms with my mental health has been an ongoing battle for as long as I can remember. I can vividly remember stumbling through life, feeling stuck in a deep hole at just 12 years old. I didn’t know what I was feeling was not normal, no one talked about preteens and the possibility of them being depressed or struggling with their mental health. Yet, there I was fighting depression. And instead of acknowledging it and working toward getting help I chalked it up to me being too sensitive and I needed to get over it. After a few years I started high school and threw myself into getting involved in hopes that keeping busy would keep me occupied. And it did. But I also managed to find people that were overwhelmingly supportive and helped me to get through the darkest times. It was during this time that I found someone that was my warrior, constantly trying to help me discuss what was going on and educate me. She took it upon herself to try to help me understand and label my mental illness. Of course, I was very hesitant to admit that I was struggling, and it usually led to fights. However, she didn’t give up on pushing me and eventually I decided to suck it up and come to terms with the fact that something wasn’t quite right. This was devastating. I didn’t want to be labeled, and sure as hell didn’t want to have to tell anyone what I was going through. Just her. She could be the only person that knew. I couldn’t tell my parents, not my friends, I didn’t want to be the “crazy one” in the family or in my friend group. So, I kept it to myself and didn’t tell anyone.

With one in four people affected by mental illness at some point in their lives, you’ve likely already dealt with mental illness in your personal life or known someone who has. Having a mental disorder is more common than many think and the taboo surrounding discussion on mental disorders often prevents many from seeking treatment.

Purely by accident, I recently stumbled upon the best analogy for my mental illness that I have ever encountered. I was talking with my best friend, and my recent fall from stability had us both concerned and philosophical, and it led to the following.

For 21 years I’ve struggled to express my emotion in a calm and collected way, I began writing my thoughts down and sending them to my family and friends so for once they could understand a little into what’s going on in my head. For those who live with bpd this isn’t a story on how I turned my life around and become in control, so if you’re needing an inspiring story or some reassurance this is not for you. This is to express the pain, anger and confusion people with bpd feel every single day with every choice they make, from choosing what to wear to making plans with a friend, decision making is hard and not as easygoing as we once thought.

For those of you who don't know much about me, or don't know who I am at all, I would tell you but I can't promise you that I truly even know who I am myself. One thing that I do know for sure is that I do a lot of disassociating - disconnection and lack of continuity between thoughts, memories, surroundings, actions, and identity. This agonizing mental disorder consumes my life.

Shame is part of my daily life. You see, I am what they call a “quiet” borderline. I admit, it sounds a little on the creepy side, but I can assure you there’s nothing lighthearted about it.

I've been trying to precisely define what it was that triggered the domino effect of the weight-loss for myself. I felt it to be the proper thing to do is share what I've decided is the correlation by sharing what was going on with myself both physically and emotionally during both times of losing 85 pounds. After losing it once and gaining it all back and then losing it again and maintaining that for the last five years.

The Beginning

"Okay. Today's going to be a good day. You're going to be strong. You’re not going to eat," I tell myself as I stand in front of the mirror in my underwear. I turn left. I turn right. I twist my knees in to make my thighs look farther apart. I count my ribs, wishing I could see them all outlined against my skin without having to suck in my gut. I grab my upper arm, measuring how far around my hand can clasp.

As a Leonardo da Vinci enthusiast, artist and ferocious reader, I have collected books and read countless biographies on him, visited museums with his collections, studied his works online, and emulated many of his artworks in various media. And after all this time, I cannot shake off the feeling that this extraordinary Renaissance man, who was prolific in so many fields might have Multiple Personality Disorder.

They don’t, actually.

Narcissists and psychopaths lie. They are reliant on the reactions of others to feel alive, be relevant, to exist—they talk continuously. When they are not interacting and getting reactions (supply) from others, they are irrelevant. Think of a phone without a battery in it. That is how they feel. A sense of nothingness.

How do you deal with pressure or stressful situations?

"The media (and politicians) is/are so quick to pick up the mental illness scapegoat because it/they know(s) that people need to blame the tragedy on something" - Mike Hedrick

Note: Anything stated below is purely from my own opinions and experience, and is not the voice of the Collective, although this will be checked by other admins before posting! This post is about my experiences with my mental health, so if this is a trigger for you, please stop reading.

Nick tasted the salty air of the bluff beach that morning, the deep blue rolling waves crashed on to faded crystal sand. The grey clouds hung in the heavens above as Nick scrubbed his board with the sticky clump of wax. A single strand of hair fell out of his small bun and teased across his sullen expression. It had been four months since he was in the car accident that shifted his life. Driving with his mate and a moment of distraction along with a just not quite enough speedy reaction and another 100km/h car. It ended with a best mate gone.

While watching a documentary on Netflix about people dealing with mysterious illnesses, my son looked at me and said said, “Now what those people went through was traumatic. Not what you went through with your brain surgeries mom.” Ouch. His words stung, but didn’t surprise me.

Its a sad sad world we live in when people are brutally and willingly harmed by others. It will never stop. Hopefully overtime it will decrease if mankind can find love and compassion to support others.

Mental illness does not discriminate; people from all walks of life can be affected. Yet, different communities, like the African American community, have unique needs that are not always being met. One of the most relevant factors in why black adults are not seeking treatment is the presence of mental health stigma.

That expression, “when something is too good to be true, it usually is,” has actually been real in my life. Because of my current set of medications including Lamictal, I find myself harder to brainwash in the immediate present since I started Lamictal until now. The way brainwashing works is that the brainwasher starts off by making you feel really good. If you struggle with self-esteem like I do, then they make a huge effort to make you feel really good. This is why I’ve stared therapy at a local college yet again. I have stuff I need to sort through, skills I need to learn, and in general, I have to get my head together. Brainwashing is a repetitive phenomenon in which you are told the same things over and over again until you believe it. Some people are so used to it, they walk around unaware that they’ve been brainwashed to put up with abuse.

I don’t need to tell you that it is the seventh biggest killer in the world for you to know that it is one you would never want to get. I shouldn’t need to get into details for you to decide that any possible fate or death would be more merciful than living with this. Death is scary, but when your life is flooded by the anguish caused by dementia, many would rather choose death. I don’t blame them. Anyone that has a disease which causes the irreversible deterioration of the neurons within their brain until everything they ever loved or cared about is gone has a right to choose how long their suffering should last. Sadly, life isn't that simple.