In the genre of “things you don’t talk about at dinner parties,” mental health issues rank higher than politics, sex, and religion.
But why? Why do we shy away from discussing the difficult things? Particularly when the difficult things, the things that make us the most real, are usually also the things that make us the most similar. There’s commonality in crisis. The rawness of our struggles can bring us together.
It only takes one person to start a conversation, even a tough one, and I’m starting this one right now. The life cycle of my mental health has been something like this:
Turn 15. Attend your grandmother’s funeral. Watch your mother spiral into depression over the ensuing months. Feel helpless. Ask questions. Get answers of silence. Depression isn’t something to be discussed. Live your mother’s day to day struggle. One medication to another. And then another. And another. Notice that your family is falling apart.
Graduate high school. Leave for college. Get sucked into the whirlwind of pressure and intoxicating freedom. Listen in shock to the news that 3 students committed suicide during the first week of classes. Question how anyone could take their own life. Feel sorry for them, people you don’t even know, but feel superior at the same time. Pat yourself on the back for having your shit together.
Spend the next 6 months living it up. Love that you’re having the time of your life. Feel a sudden shift in mood. Start to notice that your days are either sparklingly perfect or horrifyingly sad. Analyze external factors. Tell yourself that it’s college, that everyone must feel like this. Chalk it up to the combination of too much drinking and too little sleep. Too much stress and too little of everything else. Ignore the warning signs for as long as possible.
Start Junior year feeling pretty pleased with yourself, proud that you’re going to graduate a year early from such a great school. Continue to ignore the mood swings. Get rocked by a horrible breakup. Fall apart. Put yourself back together. Berate yourself for having so many bad days, even after you’ve gotten over the heartache.
Make an appointment at the NYU Wellness Center. Start using your 12 free counseling sessions, the ones the school started offering after the string of suicides. Sit across the room from a psychologist named Kathy. Feel supremely awkward. Keep telling yourself, over and over, that you’re fine and that you should be able to handle your feelings on your own. Lie to everyone about being in therapy.
Use up all 12 sessions. Refuse to pay for more. Wonder angrily why your insurance doesn’t cover mental health treatment. Feel embarrassed about needing help in the first place. Think that if your insurance company doesn’t consider this a real problem, you should be able to just sack up and get over it already. Cry. Hide in your room. Cry. Skip class. Lie to everyone about what you’re going through. Sleep as much as possible. Wonder if the world and the people in your life would be better off without you. Start to understand suicide. Drink a lot of vodka.
Switch from vodka to tequila. Go through a simultaneously coincidental shift in mood. Start to pick up momentum. Feel euphoric all the time. Sleep less, talk more. Think less, do more. Live impulsively. Love how raw and powerful your sexuality is. Get off on drawing people into your dramatic tornado. Drink more tequila. Hook up with people you shouldn’t hook up with. Spend money you shouldn’t spend. Do one thing after another that you aren’t coherent enough to know you’ll later regret.
Go from euphoric to irritable. Lose your shit over the smallest things. Get a referral to the National Institute for the Psychotherapies. Start seeing a doctor you call Hillary, due to her physical resemblance to Hillary Clinton. Talk to her. Talk more. And more. Get diagnosed with Cyclothymia, a mild form of bipolar disorder. Make an appointment to see a psychiatrist. Talk to her too. Fill your first prescription for Lamictal, a mood stabilizer. Hate the way it makes you feel. Hate hearing that even though you hate the way it makes you feel, it’s necessary. Fight your doctors. Fight everyone.
Take the medication for about 6 months. Feel dull the entire time. Continue to see both doctors. Talk. Feel dull. Repeat.
Stop taking your medication. Feel your impulsiveness spiral out of control. Watch as New Year’s Eve 2007 quickly turns into one of the worst nights of your life. Cry for days. Decide you can’t handle living in NYC anymore. Pack everything you own and move to California to get away from it all.
Spend hours laying in the middle of the floor, crying, when you realize the truth to that old saying that “no matter where you go, there you are.” Feel the mood swings picking up speed and aggression. Spend days in bed. Days where it seems like nothing will ever be okay again. Feel better. Tell yourself you’re going to be fine. Look in the mirror and reassure yourself that you have it all under control.
Go through a summer of extreme emotion. Experience real insomnia for the first time. Spend your days as high as a kite on sleeplessness and caffeine. Spend your nights pacing around in the dark, making list after mental list of everything you need to do to be as incredible as possible.
Spend the fall and winter completely breaking down. Make an appointment to see a new therapist in December of 2008. Pick her randomly off a list of people covered by your current insurance. Quickly realize that nothing is random because this woman saves your life. She asks the questions that need to be asked, and when you don’t answer right away, when you’re scared of yourself, she asks again. And she waits. She’s kind and nonjudgmental. She doesn’t put you back on medication, but tells you not to rule it out as a future course of treatment, if necessary.
You spend 8 months under her care. Halfway through that time, you’re forced to switch to a different kind of insurance that doesn’t cover mental health treatment. She sees you anyway, at an incredibly reduced rate. You’re more grateful than you have ever been.
She helps you in a way you never thought possible. She’s there for you when you lose a close friend to suicide. She works with you as you make the decision to go the nomad route, to travel and pursue your best life. She tells you to be careful, warns that a lack of routine could easily shift you back into crushing mood swings. She makes you promise to call if you need anything. You promise. You hug her goodbye.
You pack up and leave California, set out on the path of a professional nomad. You feel pretty damn stable. Then, late one October night during your travels, you learn that a former camper of yours has committed suicide, that she suffered from deep depression and that she hung herself the night before. You hear this, you understand it, and yet you can’t believe it. You cry throughout the entire night and wonder what could have been done differently to change the outcome.
You realize, finally, that mental illness isn’t something to be ashamed of. You admit that you have a mood disorder, and that luckily, because of the right help, you have it under control. You decide that you’re not going to be quiet about it anymore, that you aren’t going to pretend you have all your little ducks in a row, because you don’t. Because your honesty and openness, no matter how difficult, might inspire more honesty and more openness and that from it, we can work together to build a world where we’re not afraid to reach out for help, to be there for each other, to look each other in the eye and say, “I’m not okay,” and, hopefully, to save each others’ lives.
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nicole, you are such a wonderful, amazing person. i have loved your blog from day one and i am so glad you shared your story.
for me, the worst it's ever been is just a hormonal imbalance that seems to be pretty much evened out with birth control. but on those bad days… being trapped in your own head can be pretty scary, and despair is a really shitty feeling. i said something about having considered suicide once to my mom, because i figured it was no big deal, and something everyone felt at one time or another, and apparently i was wrong. she'd NEVER felt like that. i mean, really? and it wasn't like i SERIOUSLY considered it, but the fact that it ever crossed my mind freaked her out a lot i think. i feel pretty great most days, and of course i have days that NOTHING can touch me, but there's days that i just want to cry. i haven't ever blogged about it, because i don't feel like i was ever "really" depressed, so i have no room to talk. but i'm glad you did. thank you.
You are not just amazing and brave and everything else that has been said in the comments before me … you are so much more. The word that comes to mind is inspiring and I admire you so much for having the balls to tell your story. Bravo!
Thank you and keep strong!
I love this post. You are so right, generally topics like this are not open for discussion with a lot of people, and are greeted with silence. Boo to that.
When I was a teenager, I was diagnosed with depression. It seemed to get worse the older I got, and after I had my kids I became almost unrecognisable – my behaviour was uncharacteristic to the point that I didnt even recognise myself. I was told by family that medication would not solve the problem, or that I was just looking for an excuse.
In the end, I was smart enough to talk to someone. I had a mild form of bipolar, which used to be called manic depression, so people just used to lump it in with all other kinds of depression and medicate with antidepressants. Not effective for mood disorders, which made me understand why the meds hadnt been helping at all. Also, I found out I had postpartum depression after the birth of my oldest son, which was the reason for my extreme change in behaviour. I didnt recognise it because I had a completely different idea of what ppd actually was.
I had always been so scared to admit something was wrong with me, especially after I had children, because of what that would mean for me as a mother, or for peoples image of me as a mother and as a person. Now I realise, that its something I can control, and its not something to be ashamed of. It was by talking about it that I stopped myself from becoming what I was scared of everyone seeing me as.
I am so glad you wrote this.
Can I like, hug you forever? I say that hoping to keep you safe but I know that everyone needs to take charge of their own life. I pray you will have more ups than downs and that you will have a lot of strength for the downs.
Thanks for telling your story. I really appreciate especially since I'm struggling with some similar feelings.
You. Are. Amazing.
Nicole,
I am so glad so many people are choosing to speak out about mental illness. I have bipolar disorder and generalized anxiety disorder – at one point i was so tightly-wound that the nerve in my face broke down and i had facial paralysis for months. It was, among other things, a wake-up call. We are all getting healthier every second that someone writes or talks about it. The stigma is fading.
Also, I just finished a fantastic book called An Unquiet Mind by Kay Redfield Jamison. You should read it:)
-Maureen
((HUGS)) Thank you for being brave and honest with us, strangers to you, but feel like I know you a lil. Hope everything is going great with your travels. Stay strong and focused. =)
I applaud you for speaking out about your mental ill health. It is something I am starting to be able to do, but your post has encouraged me to try and do it properly. Good stuff.
Refreshingly honest and raw. You are wonderful and beautiful for sharing it. Mental health seems to be the ultimate taboo topic, and for what damn reason? People are ashamed? It's ridiculous. NONE of us are perfect. ALL of us have our problems. If only people would be more honest, this society might not be so quick to stigmatize everyone. I'm so glad that you got the help you needed. I really want to hug you right now, but all I can do is offer up some heartfelt thanks for sharing your story.
I'm so sorry to hear about your loss. And I commend you on your bravery and strength in writing about all of this. you have a great 'voice' and really know how to use it.
Beautiful and poignant and amazing. Thank you.
Nicole, I already think you are incredible…and you know this
. But, I literally had CHILLS throughout my body when I read this. Proud would not begin to describe how I feel about you writing this. I've never struggled like this, but I've had people around me that have and I know the devastation on the other side when they feel they can't talk to you no matter how much you love them. Thank you for writing this. Thank you for being so incredibly brave. We are ALL perfectly imperfect and the more we admit, understand, and accept that…the better this world will be.
"I'm not okay." Some of the scariest words to utter.
you are awesome. i really admire your bravery and honesty.
I believe I started a slow clap halfway through reading this.. now it's at a standing ovation. For real, you are awesome.
I just bawled at this post. I can't believe I'm over here spiraling into my own depression and your post appears in my reader.
I'm not okay.
Thank you.
Tomorrow, I'm going to call and get an appointment with a councelor. I hope to find one as good as yours. I've been through a couple so I don't have high hopes, but all I can do is try.
I hope you know how amazing of a person you are. Honestly, I feel lucky to know you. To share this and say "fuck all" to the judgmental people out there is awesome and inspiring.
And, on a completely random and terribly selfish note, thanks for the birthday message. I, too, sometimes feel the machete stabbing feeling.
This is fantastic. This is the best thing I've read online this week.
Thank you for sharing yourself so freely. I've been surrounded by many people with mental illness, and I always find the stigma attached to it so frustrating. I agree that sharing is a wonderful step in the right direction for breaking that stigma. As you allude to, you just never know what someone else is going through and it's a good reminder (imho) to always keep at bay.
I love you for doing this. After dealing with depression at about the same age, and realizing that being in therapy held an uncomfortable stigma with it, I quit before I could really accomplish the kind of progress I needed. I know now that everyone needs at least a little nonjudgemental talk therapy at least once in their life. We shouldn't be ashamed of being strong enought to actually reach out for help when we need it.
This post is AMAZING, Nicole.
Thank you for sharing this! One of the reasons that Ted and I were ultimately rejected from the Peace Corps was because I saw a counselor in college. I had broken up with a controlling and abusive boyfriend, I couldn't get out of bed, I was lonely and scared, and I needed help. Apparently, seeking help and being honest about it meant that I'm not a good candidate to help people. Lame.
So well written. I have so many thoughts – I can't even express them in a simple little comment. Next time we're in the same city…
Wow. THat was incredibly brave. I'm sorry for the friends you've lost. I have depression issues. Bad enough that I will be on medication for the rest of my life. After fighting taking meds for many many years, I finallyt agreed. They saved my life for sure.
I wish there was no stigma to mental illness, but there is. God bless.
It took me a while to come & read this post, because I knew I would need to be able to give it full attention. I've been down this road with a father & then on my own. Well, not on my own, really…I'm blessed with amazing people around me that held my hand or helped carry me.
I've always felt more for those people around me, it must be so frustrating & terrifying to watch someone you love go through that fire without understanding it or knowing what to do. It's why I give my mom so much credit since she's done it with two of us…
That was very well done. Our society needs to come to terms with Mental Illness, as it is all around us. It is sad that so many suffer in silence.
I am very open about my lack of mental stability and the hard work I've done to manage it on a daily basis. I figure the only way people will be able to relate is if I actually SAY IT OUTLOUD. And I am no longer ashamed.
Very amazing post, it's true…to often are we quiet about mental illness. It's definitely not something to be ashamed of, not at all. I can think of a thousand more things to be ashamed of.
This is an incredible post. Thank you for writing this, you superstar.
First time commenting here, but I couldn't think of a more poignant thing to respond to. I've been fighting back depression since I was 10 and finally found help that "fit" a few years ago in the form of a therapist and a psychiatrist who actually listens to me when my medication isn't working. I know what you mean when you write that it can save your life. I'm still on the Lamictal though. And the Wellbutrin. I don't know if I'll ever be able to go off of them completely because my problems seem to absolutely be chemical. The most miraculous part of growing up with depression though is right now…being able to own it and talk about it both with the people in my day-to-day life and with people like you who open up about it with complete strangers like me. Knowing that it's not a secret and not something to be ashamed of is a weight lifted. Thank you for your post and for your honesty in sharing your own struggles.
I must say I haven't read your post and don't know you from any other stranger in the world but your story still brought more then a few tears to my eyes. Thank you so much for that and helping some of us realize we're not alone.
Continue to tell the truth to yourself and everyone else. The truth does set you free. God bless.
Got here through your Internship with theBloggess and read the hilarity and then saw your guides, and I read this and cried. A range of emotions are available on your blog! Anyway, my mom's family has a long legacy of mental health issues, her grandmother had bipolar disorder and it just goes on from there to each of her children (one of whom committed suicide, we think, we're not really sure because it's all so hush hush) and then on through the generations. Anyway, as a consequence of seeing family disowned or just go off the deep end and stop talking to everyone, I've become very open and vocal about my own mental health issues (dysthymia since childhood with a major depressive episode after college, in which I also learned to understand suicide, and some anxiety attacks thrown in for good measure). It makes me sad when people think they can't change. Cognitive behavioral therapy has been my lifesaver. Thanks for putting your story out there!
Thank you for telling your story.
I suspected that I had OCD as soon as I read about it. When my mom saw me reading a book about it, she told me that my aunt, cousin and grandfather have it, but I didn't say anything. My cousin had just been instatustionalized and diagnosied with bipolar disorder and I was afraid that if I admited to being "crazy" I might end up institionalized too. I continued to suspect I had OCD during high school, but I was back on my ADHD medicine and I had a deep disgust with myself for needing chemical assistance. I convienced myself that OCD wasn't that bad if I learned to use it to ballance my OCD. Then, around 18 I discovered that OCD also explains what I call my "bad thaught." I still didn't want any medical help, because that would mean discussing it with my mom and I could tell she feared OCD. I went through my first two years of college without much trouble, until the semester I went abroad. Overall it was a fun trip, but more than once, I had to fight my bad thoughts when schedules changed.
I finally decided to seek help when I was unable to help my friend figure out what bus we needed becuase I was too busy with visions of pushing her into the middle of the street. I recieved consuling and started taking prosiac, which ended up helping with other issues as well. On the bright side, my need to talk to a friend who had also taken anti-depresants, was what drew me closer to the man who is now my fiance.
Wow. Thanks for this. One of the best (and most identifiable) blog posts I have ever seen.
I am crying with understanding because I completely relate and still hope even after 3 useless dr. that I will find the one who can finally help me…your story has given me the strength to keep searching and to stop being ashamed that I'm not okay and that I need help
Oh my goodness – feel the same way. I was diagnosed with major depression and anxiety disorder last year (in the middle of my travels) and kept it secret up until recently. I felt like I couldn't talk about it with anyone, that it was taboo, but it is really serious! It's an illness and we can only get support if people know about it.
I was planning on doing a post of my own – would you mind if I link to your article in it?
My goes something like this:
Never feel like you fit in. Get caught trying to slash your wrists during 6th grade. Get taken to a shrink, who suggests meds, and then never see them again. Spend the next five years sleeping twenty hours a day and trying to pretend everything is ok while constantly feeling disconnected from yourself and the world around you. Talk yourself out of killing yourself everyday. Fight with your parents everyday. Get put on medications only to be taken off of them as soon as your mother can convince herself you are ok.
Never be ok.
Turn 16. Get your license. Stay away from your house as much as humanly possible. Become an RPGer. Do anything to feel like you will fit in. Have a lot of awkward, drunken sex with strangers because that is what you thought you were supposed to do. Take a lot of scalding hot showers because you feel dirty.
Turn 17. Attend 17 funerals in eight months, starting with your grandfather. Graduate high school early, move out of your parents' house. Live without electricity for two weeks because the mere thought of calling the electric company gives you a panic attack and makes you want to die.
Turn 18. Start college, because you are supposed to. Have no idea who you are or how to function as an adult. Start attending the gay club circuit in a city 2 hours away. Decide to move 1,500 miles away, to a city you don't know anybody except for the friend you are moving with. Move to Chicago and start learning about yourself.
Turn 19. Find a large lump in your right breast. Go four months thinking you have cancer before you have a lumpectomy and find out that it is not. Shave your head. Leave a bad living situation to live on your own. Start therapy. Start meds. Start working with children.
Figure out what you want to do with your life. Get a diagnosis of Bipolar II and Asperger's. Figure out how to cope. Start school again. For the first time that you remember, wake up and want to be alive more often than not. Have the strength to leave a mentally abusive friendship. Find a place where you feel normal for the first time. Graduate school.
Have sex for the first time without feeling like a dirty whore. Actually be able to picture yourself in a real relationship.
Be open about shit. Get told that you define yourself through your mental disorders. Tell them that you are more than your disorders, but your disorders are part of you and help to make you who you are. That you like who you are and you are proud of yourself.
I've been reading you for awhile now and decided to click on this from your How To links and… wow. This is amazing, and as a girl who can't help but feel fucked up sometimes (most of the time) because my brain is fucked up sometimes (most of the time), I thank you.
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