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Many times I've complained that my family doesn't really understand mental illness. They don't see the difference between depression and being sad, and even those who visited me in the hospital separated my condition from the severity of my surroundings. As hard as I've tried to get my relations to understand my illness, it's even more difficult to get them to see the signs of severe depression in others.
Most people I know with a mental illness try very hard to get better. They look for sources of help, support and information. Most people I know don't sit around waiting for someone to save them.
But then there are the people who do.
There are the people who whine and complain that no one will help them and yet turn down help or refuse to look for it. There are the people who kvetch that there is no support available to them in spite of the fact that the world is drowning in helplines available 24-hours-a-day.
In short, people think mental health services should be brought to them on a silver platter - and then be spoon-fed.
Mental illness is an isolating and lonely disease. This is not to say that everyone diagnosed with a mental illness feels alone in their struggle, but many of us do, most of us do at some point in our recovery. Because I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at the age of twelve, I have often felt lonely and as if very few people could really understand me. And now, twelve years later, I still struggle with a feeling that I am alone in my illness, that despite a concerted effort on the behalf of those who love me, they cannot really understand the struggle. These thoughts, these feelings, are normal in connection to mental illness, because by nature, mental illness is a lonely and isolating disease.
When I went into residential addiction treatment, I really enjoyed the variety of experiences, backgrounds, ages, and diversity within the group. It helped me feel that no matter how different we were, we had critical things in common that tied us and made us a small community of support to one another. I have been thinking a lot about the importance of a sense of belonging to a community in recovery and life, as well as the benefits gained within residential treatment that helps long-term recovery success.
Some of you find it difficult to celebrate yourselves for the wonderful person you are. Perhaps you can't remember one single good thing about you that hasn't been made fun of, undermined, or turned into a weapon by your abuser. It is difficult to keep a positive self-image let alone cultivate a positive attitude when someone else attempts to squash you like a crunchy cream-centered bug every time you get "too happy".
In time, you may begin to feel like the fight for your Self is futile. A bit down the road, you may wonder why you fought at all. You think that you are not worth the fight - it's easier to become what your abuser wants you to be than to be who you want to be or become.
Monday morning, I met with Bob's teacher, principal, and school counselor. The district Behavior Specialist was supposed to be there, as well, but (of course) was a no-show. The purpose of this meeting--to develop a "plan" for Bob, my 10 year old son with bipolar disorder.
I'm still not sure the meeting accomplished anything, short of making the people in charge feel like they have some semblance of control where no control can be had.
Lots of folks have memory issues, but none with as much daily flare as adults with ADHD. If we're not getting on the wrong bus or heading east from Cape Cod to get to California, we're confusing meeting times AND places several times in a row. It's almost like we're wired to get fired.
Our degree of recovery comes and goes. Part of staying in recovery from borderline personality disorder (BPD) is learning how to manage symptom-provoking sudden stress. I had a crash course in doing so this past week due to a bank error that showed I had a balance of negative $10 million.
Being a mental health patient requires patience. Eternal, frustrating patience. When you have a mental illness a few weeks feels like a few years. A decade. A mental health patient's degree of patience is the difference between suffering and relief. Living in patience peacefully is the key to mental health recovery.
According to commonly quoted statistics, 90 percent of bipolar marriages end in divorce. When one factors in the difficulties of living with somebody who cycles through depressive and manic episodes, including manic episodes in some bipolars of binge spending, or worse, hypersexuality which results in infidelity, it is not difficult to see why the odds are stacked up against a long lasting bipolar marriage.
My point being, I'm right there with you. I hate the rollercoaster. I just want to live life without being in a state of constant fight or flight mode, only for his character to change and de-escalate and I fall for the person I fell for all over again.
Exhausting is a horrible word. The understatement of all understatements, if you will.
I wish there were better support groups for this kind of mental health condition.