Because it shouldn’t be a taboo subject: Part 3

The deed

29. Spread mental health awareness.

Today I’m going to share one other person’s story. Once again, this is not my story, I am sharing someone else’s (with their permission, of course).

I’ll also provide links for mental health organizations and professionals in St. Louis if you want to seek help for yourself or a loved one.

Because it’s ok to talk about it. It’s ok to own it, as long as it doesn’t own you.

Anonymous:

“I think it’s important for everyone to recognize the signs of depression, and be aware of how to aid those who are. It could just help to save someone who doesn’t even know they are depressed. I personally went through a situation of that sort.

Years ago, I was going through a tough time. I had never really been an emotional person, or had taken down my walls enough to let anyone in. Once I finally did, I fell hard and got hurt. I was devastated, and afterwards it seemed like the troubles kept coming my way, in all aspects of life. When it rains, it pours..right? I had always been a strong person, but after finally taking my guard down and getting hurt in return, something changed in me. I broke.

I couldn’t seem to handle the new feelings of heartbreak. I had never been through anything of the sort before, therefore wasn’t experienced in the healing process. I felt like I lost myself completely. I didn’t know how to be independent and strong like I once was. I either wasn’t sleeping at all, or slept all of the time, wasn’t eating, wasn’t getting out into the world to see anyone or have any fun, and I cried..a lot. I worked because I had to, but was extremely hesitant in doing so. This wasn’t me. I felt as though I was just in a “funk”.

Luckily, I had a very loving, caring, concerned mother who recognized my odd behavior. She questioned if I was depressed and was persistent in trying to get to the bottom of things. It was a constant battle as I insisted I wasn’t depressed.

Truthfully, I didn’t believe in depression. I told myself that everyone goes through tough times, and I was just going to be sad for a little while and I’d be fine soon enough. I was unable to recognize how unhealthy I was, how much weight I had lost, and how my continued sad demeanor was affecting my life and those around me.

My persistent mother finally dragged me to the doctor one day, and basically explained everything for me, as I was too stubborn to do so myself. I kept saying I was fine and didn’t need to be there. The doctor then explained to me that sometimes when you go through something like that, it can be more traumatic than you think, and cause a chemical imbalance in your brain, causing you to be unable to control your emotions. Your serotonin levels decrease tremendously all at once, and make it incredibly difficult to allow your emotions and nervous system to function correctly. I heard everything he was saying, but didn’t process any of it until much later.

He prescribed a low dose Prozac for me, which I was also a huge disbeliever in. My account of everything afterwards was this: the gradual use of the Prozac was able to increase my energy enough to actually get up and be aware of my surroundings, and increasingly helped me to focus on other things rather than just sulking. Eventually, I regained my appetite, sleep patterns improved, and I began working out regularly again. I knew of the benefits of endorphins being released by exercise, but I had only then been self aware enough to WANT those endorphins and to help myself.

From there, everything continued to get better. I finally felt and looked better, and had the motivation I needed to do better at work and to be a happier person that other people would actually want to be around. This created a snowball affect and allowed so many more good things to happen to me, and to increase my own happiness and self worth. Honestly, I wasn’t great at keeping up with the Prozac, as I still had/have my own concerns about it, but I do think it was a helpful first step to getting my energy back enough to do all of these things. I knew, however, that it was something I didn’t want to always rely on, so I made sure to safely take myself off of it when the time was right, with the doc’s guidance of course.

With that said, I have to credit most of my improvement to my support system. Thanks to my mother, and other loved ones, I was able to get my life back on track. No matter how stubborn or in denial I was, their persistence gave me the help I desperately needed. Having people around me that knew what depression looked like, and that wanted to do everything they could to end it, truly helped me.

Throughout the years following that experience, I went through several other, way more horrible events. However, I was able to recall how I dealt with things before, and everything I had to do to get back to normal. I knew I didn’t want to go through all that again and made sure not to allow myself to get to that point. I was able to recognize how often these things happen in life, and that your own life can’t stop because of it.

I never want to be the way I was back then, and with that experience, I know exactly what to do to make sure that that doesn’t happen. But, not everyone is able to recognize and are able to keep themselves from getting to that point. THIS is why it is so important for any and everyone to be aware. Whether you are going through it yourself, or come across someone else who is, it is important to know how serious of an issue it is. If ignored, it will continue to increasingly get worse, until it may be too late. Knowing the signs, and what you can do to help, just might save someone.”

Resources:

Find some help in the St. Louis area: http://www.startherestl.org/mental-health.html

 

Because it shouldn’t be a taboo subject: Part 2

The deed

29. Spread mental health awareness.

Today I’m going to share someone else’s story. Once again, this is not my story, I am sharing someone else’s (with their permission, of course).

I’ll also provide links for mental health organizations and professionals in St. Louis if you want to seek help for yourself or a loved one. Tomorrow I’ll share with you another person’s story. These people were gracious enough to help and support me in this little project. (A million and a half thank yous to you guys.)

Because it’s ok to talk about it. It’s ok to own it, as long as it doesn’t own you.

Anonymous:

“At the age of twenty-five I was abused by a man who I loved more than I’d ever loved anyone. I was in my second year as a high school English teacher and just bought my first house. I felt like my life was just starting, opportunity around every corner, so when I met my boyfriend he filled the gap between my good life and one I thought would be perfect. Perfection is unattainable, I know that now, and it ended up ruining me.

My perfect boyfriend became my abuser and I was his plaything. I was physically, emotionally, sexually and financially abused. After one particularly horrific morning when he threw me down a flight of stairs, I spit blood in his face in the basement and I crawled out, fearful he’d kill me if I didn’t try to leave.

But my recovery didn’t start there.

Adding to the pain of being a domestic violence victim, I lost my job, car and house just weeks after leaving. With very little support and very few people to turn to, I started writing my story online, hopeful to find other women who survived. Having no income meant I couldn’t seek help.

A year after I left, I started noticing new bad behaviors: I left bruises on myself to help distract myself from the emotional pain I suffered and I drank too much for the same reason. The nightmares became worse. So did the panic attacks. Everyone kept telling me I’d made the right decision, but it didn’t feel that way. They didn’t understand.

Lucky for me, someone who found my blog did. This person, a secondary survivor, told me about the non-profit organizations across the country that work with survivors and offer free counseling. His mother went to one, he told me, and he bet I could find one close to home. I found Safe Connections that day and made an appointment the following week. Free was affordable.

For three years I went to trauma therapy once a week and I spent many weeks in survivor groups there, too. I learned I suffered PTSD and Body Dysmorphic Disorder. Then, they taught me why I suffered the way I did and how to overcome the aftermath.

In those three years of therapy, my life became my own again. I met a man who bettered me. He is now my husband. I continued writing my story, and my book will be released in September. I learned how to function in a society that held no hope for me before. And I’ve come out the other side a better person than I was when I started.

I’ve learned how to empathize with people who suffer, and I’ve humbled myself to the fact that we are all equal and life hands all of us injustices. That just because mine is different than yours doesn’t mean either of us is better.

Therapy made me a better person.”

 

Thank you for sharing, love.

Resources:

Find some help in the St. Louis area: http://www.startherestl.org/mental-health.html

Safe Connections (mentioned in this post): http://safeconnections.org

Because it shouldn’t be a taboo subject

A few weeks ago I sat at a table with my CASA team as we were told by the judge that our request for therapy for the child we represented was denied. The judge made it clear that he didn’t really believe in therapy. That her problems would go away as long as she had a sturdy, loving adult in her life. I sat there, perplexed, I looked over the notes we gave him to read. She was diagnosed with 5 different disorders by a licensed therapist…how could he deny this request?

It was a bad call. I knew it then. After we were dismissed I angrily vented to my supervisor, who was also disappointed in the outcome.

I thought the rest of that day about how stupid it is that we, as a society, let this happen. So many people treat mental health as if it is not as harmful as any other physical disorder. But it is! We convince ourselves we can fix it ourselves. We tell children “Your just going through something. You’ll be fine”. We underfunded programs that assist the mentally ill, then we act horrified when mentally ill people hurt themselves or others. I’m so sick of this being an issue being swept under the rug. Your mental health should not be a taboo subject.

I left court that day defeated. I felt powerless. I felt mad. Then I took those feelings, I came up with this idea of a good deed.

The deed

29. Spread mental health awareness.

Today I’m going to share with you my own story. I’ll also provide links for mental health organizations and professionals in St. Louis if you want to seek help for yourself or a loved one. Tomorrow I’ll share with you another person’s story, then another the following day. These people were gracious enough to help and support me in this little project. (A million and a half thank yous to you guys.)

Because it’s ok to talk about it. It’s ok to own it, as long as it doesn’t own you.

My story

When people ask how long I’ve had stomach problems I say fifth grade. When people ask how long I’ve had a problem with anxiety, it’s no coincidence that the answer is the same.

So what happened in fifth grade? Looking back on it, it seems stupid. Like something most people would brush off and move on from…but I’m not most people. I had a “friend” who was an emotional terrorist. I began getting nauseated at the idea of going to school and seeing her. I would throw up, get dizzy, cry hysterically…my mom didn’t know what to do. I was taken to a specialist. I don’t remember what it was he “diagnosed” me with but we left with a prescription for stomach aches that I hardly took. Sometimes I felt like it helped…othertimes I pretended it did.

But what people don’t tell you about anxiety disorders like mine is that most of the time you don’t “grow out of them”, or “get all better”. Once it started, it never really stopped for me. I have had good years with few triggers and bad years with big triggers, but anxiety is always there in varying magnitudes. I tell people that it’s like a button being pressed in my stomach. And I feel half-insane saying that, I can really feel exactly where the button is. Upper-middle stomach, right below the ribs. When I’m anxious it gets pressed and like a snap of the fingers, I am sick.

Then at the end of my freshman year of college, my grandmother passed away. I cared about her deeply. My life shortly after her death was a very dark place. (This is another story entirely, if you want to hear about it, scroll down to “My Connection With Pancreatic Cancer”) I stopped going out and my grades were…not so great. I made the decision to see a grief therapist. I visited her twice, both times I balled…she listened…and I left not feeling much better. I didn’t see her again. In retrospect, I see now that I wanted her to fix me. I wanted her to make the grieving stop, but in reality, the only thing that makes the loss of a loved one better is time. And you can’t skip that step.

While therapy didn’t do much for me, it was important that I made that decision for myself. It was the first time I recognized, on my own, that I needed help and reached out for it. It was terrifying to ask for help. When you’re in a mind-set like I was, you want so badly to just fix it yourself. But sometimes you just can’t. Once I realized that, I was able to make healthy decisions for myself.

Two years ago I was having frequent anxiety once again, When it became unmanageable I looked up some names and called a doctor. He took the time to talk to me about how I was feeling (although it was fairly clear because I cried for the better portion of my visit) and we had a two-way conversation about what action to take (my doctor is the real deal).

Today, I’m someone who has an awful lot to be thankful for. I already have a lot of things I’ve always wanted for myself. A pretty house, a loving husband, an adorable dog, good friends and income that allows me to life a comfortable lifestyle. I also have a general anxiety disorder that still rears its ugly head on any given day. But it’s manageable because I was able to recognize my unhappiness and reached out for help. I’m on medication that stops that button from being pushed. It doesn’t stop me from feeling…it just stops me from feeling hopeless.

And I shared this long-winded story with you because I want you to know that you can ask for help too. Your health in any capacity should never be a taboo subject; it’s too important. If you feel you need a little help, I encourage you to please seek a therapist, doctor, or at least talk to a trusted loved one about how you feeling. You are not alone in this. It’s not weird or wrong or embarrassing. It’s just another thing life throws at you, but how you choose to handle it will affect the rest of your life, take it seriously.

If you don’t want to talk to someone you know and you are skeptical about seeking professional help. I’ll help. Email me at: libby.bishop1@gmail.com

(Full disclosure: Not a therapist. Can’t diagnose you. May not have all the answers. But I’ll listen and support you.)

Resources

Find some help in the St. Louis area: http://www.startherestl.org/mental-health.html

————–

Other good deeds-

30. ALS Ice Bucket Challenge