The Craziness of Mental Health

I’ve read about the mental healthcare systems abroad, some of the “things” that are available (like therapy) and thought a lot about ours.  I’m not suggesting that things are rosy everywhere else, but merely to reflect on the system we have here.  I live in South Africa and most of the laws and policies here are like Nelson Mandela authored.  We put the D in democracy and the humane into human rights, thereotically.  In practice, it doesn’t work that way.

For example, I once “trained” a group of women in a rural area in our country on the beautiful domestic violence act we have.  Thereotically the police can intervene, you can obtain a protection order, and again thereotically, be protected.  In your home.  In your house with your children.  They listened, dilligently took notes and smiled when I paused.  When I found their silence too much I asked why they weren’t talking / participating.  One of the older women stood up and said:  “The closest police station is at least 300 km away for most of us.  The court is even further.  And you’d be lucky if they serviced you on the same day, IF you have transport money to spare / get there.  We have our own act.  If your partner is threatening violence, we hang a certain item of clothing on the line, which means I need help.  The woman who sees it alerts others in the street, and we all come for “tea”.  We stay there, with endless conversation, until the situation is diffused. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t.  But that’s what really helps us”.

I kept quiet.  I was humbled by what these women went through and how they tried to help each other.  But that didn’t mean that they shouldn’t be helped more, and that resources and attention shouldn’t immediately be directed to make their lives better.  In the context of mental healthcare things are even more ominous.  There are people with chronic mental illness who died because they were dehydrated.  Yes, there were other factors, but dehydration?  Not being fed?  If I consider what it’s like to have mental illness and to die for these or ANY reasons just isn’t ok.  No matter how we try to dissect it.  If you don’t have the money for private health care (it cost me about 800 US Dollars for myself and my children on private medical aid per month) you will find that there aren’t any services that are responsive enough to cater for people with mental illness, no matter how ill they are.

For example, you can’t get into a psychiatric ward without being suicidal.  This based on my own and other people’s experience has meant that you need to have tried to commit suicide and required immediate hospitalisation / care.  Not if you were intending to.  No, preventative is nice.  We don’t (although there are a few attempts) have a sufficient suicide call in number for people who feel suicidal, or their families who are a concerned.  And I will not go onto describe the ambulance service, which as the rural women teacher taught me, is just not realistic in some parts of our country.   There are frequent drug stockouts, a lack of psychiatrists in the public health system and therapy is a luxury.

I have to face the reality of this system now.  I was retrenched and do not have the resources for private healthcare.  My psychiatrist costs $150 per session, my therapist $80 and private psychiatric hospitals (which are funnily still like jails) are thousands and thousands.  The implementation of our far-reaching mental healthcare act, like the domestic violence act is failing the people who it was designed to poetically protect.  And most people with mental illness do not in our country, have communities of support where they can hang the “I need help underpants” on the line.  We need to draw attention to the state of the system (or perhaps the lack of it), the way people with mental illness are treated and the services they are subjected to, and the not so silent genocide of people with mental illness in our country.  I intend to.  Be part of those who support us as opposed to those who don’t.  I am 4 M’s Bipolar Mom.

Struggle with Self-Doubt

Fall and Get Back Up

When we fall, we get back up because we do not really have a choice otherwise.  This is human nature.  It isn’t as easy as it sounds though.  I can only speak on behalf of my experience and my experience is tainted with mental illness.  I believe this to be true in those who do not live with mental illness as well but I can not say for certain.

Life is difficult when we begin new adventures.  Many roles are expected to be filled which can become haunting.  Say for instance you want to author a book.  You simply can not just write the book and be done with it.  It has to be edited, published, and promoted.  Nowadays in the world of media, we must exploit ourselves to be seen or heard.  Not only our success but our failures are witnessed by thousands.  There are many contributing factors that are a part of whether we stand or we fall.

Trying to strive towards success with a mental illness has proven sketchy for myself.  Again these pitfalls may be experienced by those without mental illness but for myself, these are amplified.

Self-doubt

Self-doubt has reared it’s ugliness more than I’d like to admit.  To the point that I do not want to continue.  I can not seem to get past it.  I struggle to find the beauty in my unique style.  I want to stand alone but can not find the courage to do so.  Luckily there is a voice inside my head that will not be silenced, coaching me to rise up, to continue, to move forward despite what I am feeling.  I know in my heart that what I strive to do has a purpose, I just haven’t come across the way to implement it.  Which leads me to the next setback.

Lack of trust

This falls along the same lines as self-doubt and all that I will mention does yet it plays a separate role.  Lacking trust in one’s abilities causes great strife.  Once I make a decision, I go back and forth between whether it was the right or wrong decision.  This makes it almost impossible for me to move forward or get back up, so to speak.  In reality, there is no right or wrong way to go about things especially creative ideas but for myself, it is easier said than accepted.

Resources

There are ample amounts of resources made available.  This becomes an overwhelming factor.  As I seek guidance, I am given too many options to chose from.  This is sensory overload for me.  My decision-making skills are limited if not non-existent, making deciding a challenge.

These three examples all play off one another making it almost impossible for me to move forward with my decision to begin a creative business.  New adventures open new horizons which I am entitled too yet I am my own pitfall.  Low self-esteem and lack of confidence are what it boils down too.  These are characteristics that have prevented me from getting back up time and time again.  I am my own worst critic.

Today I would like to reach out and ask for some suggestions to get past this phase.  It is impacting my goals in a negative manner,  one that I am not comfortable with.  I once was a self-proclaimed quitter but for the last year or so I have set out to do things with an “I will not quit” attitude and I refuse to turn back now.

What are some things that you have tried that worked in helping you overcome self-doubt?  Do you now trust your abilities?

Any and all feedback is appreciated.  Thanks- Candace

Retrospective

There are times I find that it’s hard for me to accept how things have turned out in life, being 27 and unable to work due to chronic illnesses such as scoliosis and rheumatoid arthritis, to keep it short, has had a huge impact on who I am as a person. This definitely isn’t the life I envisioned for myself, and sometimes, like most, I feel a little sorry for myself. Before my disabilities took hold, before my daughter, my husband and I were in a relatively successful local band, and before becoming a mother, music was the only thing in life that I always knew was meant to be.

Once you’ve been within reach of your dreams and gotten a taste of what that feels like, it’s incredibly difficult when lost. At one point, I actually allowed myself to believe that all my wildest dreams could come true, that I would get every little thing I deserved for putting everything I have into being the best person that I can be. Once those thoughts take hold, everything else goes unnoticed, including the first signs that what you thought was wild success, may in fact turn into a complete and utter failure of a situation.

It took years for me to get the courage to perform on stage as a lead singer, I mean after all, my only experience had been singing in choir, and singing in the car and shower. But once I let myself show the world my talent, I never wanted it to stop – I wanted to show everyone, not just those who doubted me or worked against me, but to show people who struggle to find the self-esteem and strength to follow their dreams that it could be done, by a nobody nonetheless.

While the band has been dead for a few years now, I still haven’t finished grieving, and while I haven’t completely given up on the dream, the more time passes, it becomes increasingly difficult to manifest any sort of true motivation to pursue it anymore. As sad as that is, it’s a product of my ever persistent lack of confidence, despite the fact that I proved to myself that I’m definitely not lacking the talent to make it happen. Instead, I hate my body and pity myself and find it hard to open up about it, but it’s not something that anyone I know can truly understand.

I never knew until recently just how detrimental a role physical pain can play on your mental state, but it has eaten away so much from who I am, who I know I’m meant to be, and everything I wanted to accomplish in my life, that I completely resent myself and feel weakened not only physically, but spiritually as well. To some people, hobbies are silly and insignificant, and while music has always been so much more than that, I’ve got to allow this transition to take place and find some way to feed my creativity without relishing in the fact that I’ll may not ever be able to share it with the world in the way I always dreamed.

I’m not giving up, but it’s time to switch gears.

Journey to a Diagnosis, Part III

Today I will write the final chapter in my Journey to a Diagnosis series.  Find the rest of the story here and here.

When I got home from the inpatient facility my house was empty of children.  My mother in law ended up bringing the kids to her own house for the last half of my stay.  I was grateful to have a little time to adjust to being home before I was thrown back into normal life.  When they finally came home, I felt really out of my element.  The high doses of medication I was on left me feeling less than energetic and “off my game.”

We had some great friends who did some renovations in our townhouse while I was away.  They painted some walls and our kitchen cabinets.  They also bought us a new tv and gave us some really nice furniture.  It was such a lift and helped me feel like I was going home to a fresh start.  I will be forever grateful for their kindness to us during this difficult time.

As glad as I was to be home and to be free of mood swings, I soon became aware of new difficulties that arose due to the medications I was on.  I was taking high doses of Lithium, Tegratol and Geodon.  The side effects were terrible.  I was on so much medication that I felt and behaved like a zombie.  My movements were markedly slow, I had digestive issues, and I felt almost completely devoid of emotion of any kind.  My mom and my closest friend both told me later that they felt like I had lost all of my personality.  It was difficult to talk to me as I never had anything to say.  I would just sit off to the side, my mouth literally hanging open.  I was overly sedated and everyone could tell.

In addition to these unpleasant realities, I was even more sedated at night, which was when I took my medications.  I would fall almost instantly asleep.  My husband found it impossible to wake me.  He just had to wait until I awoke on my own.  This meant he had to wake with our baby at night and couldn’t leave for work or school in the morning until I woke up.  Thankfully, this all worked out alright.  Our baby mostly slept through the night and Ryan’s schedule allowed him to be around in the morning.

The hardest part of all of this for me, was processing the reality of what I had been through.  I had been inpatient for my mental health.  I had “lost my mind”–or so I told myself.  I was so afraid of having to face the people I knew.  What would they think?  Were they all talking about it?  I felt like I may as well have had a flashing neon sign on my forehead that said “crazy.”  I felt that if people knew what had happened that I would lose all credibility as a teacher and mentor at church.  I felt like others would judge me harshly.  I didn’t think they would understand at all.  I certainly didn’t feel like I could talk about it openly.

To make matters worse, I felt that I was being excluded from activities that other young moms in my church community were doing.  I was likely putting a negative spin on events.  It is hard to know at this point.  But, at the time, I felt really left out.  And I thought it was because of what I had been through.  I felt they thought it was easier not to deal with me and my strange issues.  Again–in hindsight, this probably isn’t true, but such were my feelings and perceptions at this time.  This made a hard situation more difficult.  If only I had someone to confide in, it may have helped me better understand what had happened.

I was, however, very thankful for the amazing outpatient care I received from Dr. Holland.  He was kind and compassionate.  When I told him of my side effects, he helped me switch from Lithium to Lamictal.  This was a very positive change.  He also switched me from Geodon to Abilify.  Lastly, he took me of off Tegratol, due to some negative changes in my labs.  All of this helped me improve immensely.  I still had excellent symptom management, but I felt more like myself.

Sadly, Dr. Holland decided to close his outpatient practice and go exclusively inpatient.  I had to switch doctors.  I ended up with another great doctor.  As I continued to improve, he began to wean me down off the higher doses I was on.  This helped me feel even more like myself.  But this doctor went inpatient as well, and so I had to switch again.  I ended up going through a few more doctors for similar reasons.

I started doing so well, that doctors began telling me that they thought my initial diagnosis of bipolar was incorrect.  I was overjoyed to hear this, of course.  I was weaned off all of my medications until I was only taking a tiny dose of Abilify.  I was able to stay here and be well for a period of years.

If you’ve been reading my posts, you know the rest.  I weaned off my Abilify, became pregnant with my last child and everything fell apart.  Postpartum, I finally found myself sitting across the desk from a new psychiatrist–the one who could fit me in the fastest, as she told me in no uncertain terms that I most certainly did have bipolar disorder.  She passed me the box of Kleenex as I started to sob.

Coming to terms with this reality was very difficult for me.  I wanted to talk my way out of it: “But what about last time?  I got all the way better!  This can’t be real.”  The longer my depression went on, the more accepting I became.  “This is real.”  I was finally able to tell myself and I could believe it– and feel peace about it.

Whenever I am tempted to think I am home free and everything is fine.  I think back on the last 17 years and I know that I am fooling myself.  It helps put things back into perspective and reminds me that I still need to take measures to protect my mental health.

I am deeply grateful every day that I can function in my life.  In my mind, It is nothing short of a miracle to go from where I was to where I am now–and to realize I have been through this twice!  Two trips through hell, and back.

I have a special place in my heart for people who suffer–with anything, really.  This is because I have felt suffering.  When I think of others enduring agony, I can empathize, because I have felt agony.  I especially feel for women–mothers, who struggle with mental illness, all while trying to raise their families and get through all that that entails, day after day after day.

I also acknowledge that because I have felt deep pain and suffering, my gratitude for the good times runs deeper than ever before and my joys are deeper as well.  I am grateful for all the good that can come out of suffering.

So, yes, I have bipolar disorder.  It is a part of my journey.  I have learned to affectionately call this condition my “tutor”–because it has been through my experiences with it that I have learned and grown so much.

Where are you in your journey with mental illness?  Are you just starting and trying to figure things out?  Are you in the hard times right now, trying to get through?  Or are you enjoying a period of rest and peace in your life?

Wherever you are, thank you for being a part of my journey.  I’d love to hear from you!  Share your experiences below.

Letting go of toxic relationships.

Letting go of people is never fun, (especially if it’s over the side of a cliff) yet I am growing, and might I add painstakingly, to realize it’s just a part of life.
As a disclaimer I need each and every one of you to know that I don’t pretend to be the only person who understands the depth of emotions that so cheerfully accompanies saying goodbye to someone, however when I write it usually comes as if I am the Lewis and Clark (yes both simultaneously) of first hand experiences. The joke being they weren’t the first and they couldn’t have done it without Sacajawea. (yeah, yeah they made some maps and stuff.) With that being said, let the dramatics begin!

When you first realize you’ve been in an emotionally abusive relationship it is more or less comparable to the sting after a hard slap in the face. Hypothetically the hard slaps have been happening gradually over months, years, decades and in the most unfortunate cases; a lifetime. I don’t particularly feel like chronicling my isolated experience, I’d prefer to speak more vaguely about it (I like to maintain some privacy).

I’ve usually prided myself on the fact that I can read people fairly well, I’ve got strong instincts and I sense energies, (don’t worry I’m not a witch but thank God we aren’t in Salem, Massachusetts circa 1692-1693) Anyway, through out the years I have had distinct moments where I assessed the relationship in question, I knew some behaviors were unhealthy and I took note of them.
I’m wonderful at understanding why people are the way they are (we are whatever we say we are, and if we weren’t why would we say we are?) although I am afraid I have spent too much time justifying people and their actions. I have missed a lot of opportunities to reason whether or not a person is or isn’t healthy for me.

In truth, I have done the dirty work that is removing cancerous people from my life, but now I have the daunting task of saying goodbye to my best friend. We’ve know each other for about 13 years and as one could imagine, we have so many shared experiences. She was there for me through many tough times and vice versa; I’m trusting that you understand what a friendship entails. It’s surreal in many ways. Romantic relationships come and go but it’s been bff and bffl ever since elementary.

Now, I understand there isn’t much point dragging you all down memory lane, it wouldn’t be conducive for anybody, especially myself. I don’t hold anything against her, like I said I understand why she is the way she is, but I’m just now fully realizing that I can’t allow myself to be treated this way. If someone were to spill coffee on my lap I’d probably apologize to them, and that’s pretty much how our relationship has been.

So, no. Slaps in the face, the sting afterwards and hot coffee spilled on laps aren’t the best experiences, but I do thank her for the good times because there were many.

I wish her nothing but the best, but I’d be lying to you all if I told you I won’t be experiencing my own private sort of hell for awhile.

Pain is a shared experience and so is learning.

Your friend,
Hume.

Photo Credit: unsplash-logoHenri Pham

An Update on my Goals

The end of another month. I can’t believe tomorrow we are starting March of 2018. I am officially six months into this adventure in writing my blog. It has been another good month to be sure, and I am excited as always for the next best thing on The Bipolar Writer blog.

I never do things in the right way. What I mean by that is sometimes I don’t take things slow. An example of this is The Bipolar Writer blog. I thought when the year turned into 2018 that I had to write every blog post every day. I have done that, but it has been at the expense of my mental health. I am getting better at not being such a perfectionist, but my life has always been all or nothing. I mention this because I am learning.

One of my small goals, although it is far from small, is to learn the beautiful Korean language. It’s been a struggle because I want to learn everything there is to the language in a single day. So far I have learned some things but with my busy schedule I haven’t dedicated the time that I want. I have lacked real balance in my life in February between what I need to do and working on my mental health. I know moving forward I need to find time for the little things. The things that make life worth living, like hobbies that could mean happiness in my life.

So my goal of March 2018 is to start living. I want to get into photography. Not to make living, I want to do it just for me. I still need a camera but thats just the details. I want a good camera and I think I am leaning towards a really good one. I never do anything that makes me happy. I know learning Korean and taking up photography is something that will make me happy. I can leave my house for time and go out in nature. Somthing I never get to do.

I have been so focused on my blog, my memoir, my many projects, and my goals that it seems again that life is passing me by. I can’t let that happen. I have gone too far in this journey to let life pass me by. I am nearing the end of one journey which means the world to me. I have my last two semesters of my bachelor’s degree left and it feels so good to be moving forward.

With that said, I am going to take a few days off from blogging. Today I worked on my freelance project and I my social anxiety was high. I got through the anxiety, and I am taking some time off. I will get on as a reader only over the next few days as I look to better my mental health. That is so important in this life.

So here is to the next best thing.

J.E. Skye

Photo Credit:

unsplash-logoBrady Bellini

unsplash-logoSeung-Hyeon Kim

unsplash-logoJean-Pierre Brungs