Freak Out Moments











{August 4, 2013}   Mental Health And Me

Hey it’s me again!

So what am I here for? Oh an update of a few things. I don’t know if anyone will much read this but I figured it’s a way to note it down and if stumbled upon all the better. I have suffered from anxiety/bi-polar depression since I was a teen. It started with the loss of my hair in small chunks, I had never heard of Alopecia before and the doctors pretty much said that the lot was going to fall out. Now it’s not the end of the world I get that but at 15/16 it pretty much feels that way. I already had a very low opinion of myself thanks to the bullies at school, they seemed to think that it was more important for me to fit in with their thin crowd and make my hair-style like they had than for me to get an education.

When I lost my hair I was in the transition that took me into college, I had no concept of the effects of depression past the experience I had with a cousin of mine who suffered it so badly he was institutionalised. A lot of people think that the closure of the old institutes was this fantastic thing for everyone, that people ‘trapped’ in the system were suddenly let out of this horrific mental asylums and everything was rosy. It wasn’t… my childhood experience of this was to see a man that had full care put in the hands of the state. He was lonely, depressed and he invariably felt such a burden on his own family he committed suicide. I have never truly forgiven the people that did this, and I am sure this story is not mine alone.

I am fascinated by the history of mental asylums, from the grizzly reality of the killer ice-pick lobotomy to the new age drugs. From the people shoved into workhouses, stored in rich family members attics to the average joe that used it as an artistic outlet. I want to understand my disorder because to me it forms an incredibly large part of my life. I am NOT the disorder of depression, but I carry it with me. Lately it seems that more awareness is being brought out about this, I am grateful for those attempts, I think the stigma of being “mental” is not always as funny as I might joke about it to be.

It hurts when people make fly comments like “oh off our meds are we?” Or “maybe those drugs aren’t working”… Drugs are not the only answer to combatting a disorder. They can aid it, they can give you the confidence to feel ready to tackle it but when it all comes down to the base reality two things can help me. Family and Friends, and you as your own person. I’ve been up and down with suicidal thoughts since I was a child and it’s horrid. You hide the reality from people because you don’t want them to worry, or you think they will run for the hills. I guess the harder part is that you fear rejection so greatly you find a way to lie about who you are, and invariably eventually it eats you from inside to out. I am not always “okay” I am quite often anything but, however it’s often easier to say you are.

“Cheer up it’s not that bad.” Is possibly the most annoying, ridiculous thing you can say to me. I KNOW it’s not that bad, trust me. I know there’s a third world out there, I know cancer sufferers, terminal patients and people in far shittier places are out there but my brain has decided it is that bad. I can’t just flip a magical switch and be happy, I don’t want drugs that make me into a dribbling mess or give me a fake smile. I want my emotions to be mine, I want to feel and love, smile and cry. However, the utter flipside to this is the stab in the heart, when you are having a bad time or utterly manic you can’t even claim you are your own person, like a whirlwind you’re brain decides to sweep you around on an adventure and you’re not always a willing participant. I never paid for the ticket that made me a complete cow and I never paid entry to the one that makes me think driving a car into a building is a good idea, another person/entity brought it for me and surprised me with it.

As I write this I am once again reminded of how lucky I was to have had the mom I did, even now I am getting that choking feeling because I miss her so much. My mom was a rock, a legend, a support in everything I did. Loosing my mom was the scariest thing that happened in my life. I didn’t see her everyday when I moved away from home, I rang as often as I could and we talked so much. I lost not just a mom but a best friend. It’s been over four years now, and I still feel like the world was robbed somehow. I love my mom, I wish I could tell her it today still. I guess I can but you know what I mean I am sure. My mom was amazingly understanding and patient, it must be awful as a parent to have a child that goes through that and feel helpless. I would like to say to parents that are feeling that, you are not helpless, just listening and letting your child know that you are there is more support than so many might imagine. Closing doors on people is what makes it harder, so if you’re worried that just saying I love you and you know where I am isn’t enough, it’s probably doing more than you could imagine.

Wow lengthy post I know. However I hope that if even one person stumbled across this and felt less like they were alone with what they go through I think it’s a worthy blog.

And thank you for taking the time to read this.

Gearsgirl.

 

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