The Story of My Mental Illnesses

Wow, this is a hard topic to talk about. I was diagnosed young. Back when mental illness was just becoming everyone’s normal routine. They said I had ADHD. They didn’t know how wrong they were. They thought they had me figured out. Turns out, I was just a seven year old girl, hiding behind a lie.

The medication never worked. We tried many pills, herbal remedies, and even patches. Nothing worked that didn’t make me feel like a zombie. When I was in my early teens, I stopped taking medicine altogether. This is when my real battle began.

Around the same time, it came out that as a child, I was put in precarious situations. Soon, I was diagnosed with depression and PTSD. Trauma would soon follow me. Soon after my past was revealed, I was taken advantage of and became pregnant. Instead of having an abortion, I chose to have my child. Knowing that I couldn’t take care of my child, I sought out adoptive parents. The day she was released from the hospital, they took her to her new home.

This is where my illnesses spiraled out of control. I was devastated. I hated myself for what I had done. I was fifteen. Cutting reminded me that I was alive. Getting angry and destroying stuff reminded me that I had feelings. I didn’t want to feel alive. I didn’t want to have these feelings that did nothing but hurt. I can’t tell you how many times I attempted to end my life. Nor can I tell you how many times I hurt my family. But I did it. And that was another reason to hate myself.

After trudging through high school, going to parties, getting drunk and high on God knows how many drugs. I thought I was finally free. I was in a relationship with a guy that at the time, I loved. I dug into my own family medical history a bit more and found out that my mother had bipolar disorder. It didn’t seem to affect me. So, I wrote it off and continued my life. Until the day that shit hit the fan. My boyfriend and his family crossed a lot of lines in a small amount of time. I wasn’t happy anymore, so I left.

I went to stay with a girl who called herself my girlfriend. She mainly did it to keep her drug dealers from wanting to have sex with her. For this girl, who I believed in, I put myself in situations for her. Many of which I’d like to scrub from my memories. At one point, she and I got into a physical altercation because of something that she had done. I wasn’t okay with that and I left her.

At this point of my life, I was looking for someone to protect me. This would be my downfall. I quickly got into another relationship with a gorgeously built, blue eyed, tow truck driver. He and I would end up having an unhealthy attraction to each other. No matter what stage of life we were in. It was best for us to never speak to each other.

Being homeless and fighting my depression was starting to weigh down on me. I moved from place to place, and relationship to relationship while trying to go to school in a town that didn’t want me there. But that school was keeping me going. Only one thing could possibly ruin it for me. Enter the person who would quite literally drive me insane.

Let's call him Richard, because the short version of that is Dick. Richard would come to consume three years of my life. Occasionally, he tries to keep control over it with no avail. Richard made me believe that we only ever needed each other. Richard was a silver tongued snake with an addiction problem. I wanted to fix him, because he said he wanted to fix himself. I should never have believed him. Especially after I saw all of the signs. I stayed though, because he wanted me to.

He brought out the worst part of me. I had to be the worst me if I was going to survive the abuse from him and his family. I was physically, emotionally, and financially abused by this entire family. I was used over and over again. One day, Richard decided that it was time for me to have a baby. I didn’t want one, but I had one anyway. Because of this baby, he knew that I would be at home. I wouldn’t be partying, or going out with the girls. I wouldn’t be put in any situation where someone might take me away from him.

I let the abuse continue, as long as my child was safe. I never really knew my birth parents, so I wanted my child to have both of his. Even after Richard kidnapped him, left us for drugs, and went to jail, I stayed with him. During this time, I was giving therapy another go. I was given medication from a psychiatrist and saw a counselor every week.They deemed me to have bipolar, PTSD, borderline personality disorder, major depression, an eating disorder, and a sleeping disorder.

I became a zombie in my daily life. I was angry, and slept all the time, and it turned me into a bad mom. I would yell at my son because I was too tired to take care of him. I hated myself because Richard had left. I started to blame my son, and that’s when I knew something had to give. Richard came home after he got out of jail. He became more abusive and was falling back onto harder drugs. His family lived nearby and if anything happened, they were the first to show up to defend him.

I was trapped in this abusive relationship. Even after one of Richards drunk and drugged up nights almost killed our child, I was forced to stay. I had seen too much. Too much of the inner workings of their messed up family. I had seen them drug, rob, and kidnap people. I had seen them gang up and threaten anyone who may stop them. I was in the center of a small family mafia. Leaving would have meant death for me, and a life of crime for my child.

There was one in the family who saved me, she took me away where I could be free and live the life that I wanted. I still tried to give my child the chance to have a father. Unfortunately, Richard ruined it by holding our child for ransom. I am not sure how I came through that situation with my life, but I’m glad I did for the sake of my son.

Today, I am happy. I still struggle with my mental illnesses, but I do it with no medication. I speak to a wonderful counselor every week. I even find time for self care. It’s no walk in the park, mind you. There are days when the flashbacks are severe. There are countless sleepless nights. Fear of sleeping because it’ll be just another nightmare. Some days there are complete breakdowns. I feel everything at once and it overwhelms me. On those days, I am a whole other me. I am violent and loud. I’ll calm down, then loop back and have another breakdown. I don’t care about anyone, because I feel no one cares about me.

That couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s hard for people to understand what I go through. No two people undergo the same mental process. I’m learning to get better. To hold control of my emotions even when my mind is shattered into dust and blown into the wind. I know it’s only a matter of time before it happens. I feel the depression setting in. Lack of interest in my everyday chores. Lack of self-care. Feeling the need to curl up in a dark corner and cry. It’s coming. I feel it. Just like last time, I’m going to fight it. This time though, I’m going to fight harder. This time, I’m not just aiming to survive. This time, I’m aiming to win.