Tomorrow is my sister’s birthday.
She would have been fifty-two years old.
I can remember her last birthday like it was today. I lived far away so I called her and the
first words out of her mouth were, “Suzy, don’t start. I can’t handle it right
now.” You see since she was seven years older than me, I always teased her on
her birthdays. That birthday was the
first time that she actually meant for me not to joke about it. I knew instantaneously that she seriously
didn’t want me to kid around. That day
instead of joking back and forth, I sat at my kitchen table drinking tea out of
the cup that she gave me for one of my birthdays, and listened to her tell me
that she was really upset about that birthday.
I felt for every word she shared with me, and I so wanted to climb
through the phone and reach out and hold her, but all I could do was
listen. Sometimes I wonder if she knew
how much I wanted her to know I was there for her. I never did get the chance to find out and I
never will.
Right now I feel as though I am surrounded by death. In the last three years I have lost my gram,
my aunt Gloria, and my mom. Dad is next
and there is nothing I can do about it, except sit and wait for it to happen and
to let him know that I love him and it is ok for him if he wants to go.
This weekend I am going to visit him, but I am not going alone. Denny is going to drive down with me and try
to make it so there is down time as well.
I know I said I wasn’t going to go back, but there are things that I
have to do that I didn’t know needed to get done while I was there. Another
reason that I am going to go is because of a woman that used to go to the
support group that I facilitate. I found
out that she has stage four breast cancer.
You might wonder why that makes me want to go back to New Jersey. I can’t
answer that, well maybe I can. She is
alone. Lives alone at a senior living
place and is not the kind of person to get to know others really well. All her life she had suffered with anxiety
and depression. I wonder how she who
suffers like my parents had, could she be all alone. Maybe it was because she didn’t self-medicate
like my parents.
She told me about her cancer in my voice mail and I can’t bring myself
to call her back. I know that is
horrible of me, but I am finding it really difficult to do. I think she was the first person that had me
saw that I can really help another. When
she first started at the group, she was so quiet and within a few months she
opened up so much that I had to remind her that the rest of the group members
needed time as well. She never got
disappointed that I had to remind her and at one time she told me that was
thankful that I had done that. Maybe
tomorrow I will call her.
So why do I say I am surrounded by death, because that is all I can
think about right now. I look at old
pictures and find that in most of them, more than half the people in them are
dead or dying. Than because of that, I think about my own. I wonder if I will die naturally or will it
be from my own hand. Right now I am ok,
but there are so many times that I am not and can think of nothing else but ways
in which I could really do it. I
envision myself so much that it feels like I am really doing it. Well I guess that is something that God can
answer.
Today I had to write a recovery story for the training I am in. I did a good job on it, I think, only thing
is I wonder if it was really me that I was writing about. I mean I know it is about me and all, but can
I stay that way.
Anyways I know this is a long blog already, but I am going to add my
recovery story here, so if you have had enough of reading my stuff just finish
this paragraph. Also to let you know, the picture above is one of the last of
my sister before she died. If you stop
at this sentence…TTFN
If you are reading on, here is my recovery story so far…
As early as I can remember, I have always felt like a
spectator of the world. Never did I feel
as though I belonged anywhere. I felt as
though I didn’t have any control of my behavior, thoughts or feelings. In my mind I always thought that I was like that
because I was adopted and felt as though I was missing something. I remember that while I was in my early years
of school, I got into to trouble for the actions that I felt were out of my
control and when I tried to explain this to people, they just told me that was
crazy, because everyone decides how they will act.
It was not until the beginning of my tweens did I realize
that some of the actions acted upon me were not what everyone else had to deal
with. I just thought in my mind that
everyone had to go through the same traumas that I was enduring. By the time that I realized that it was not
normal I was too ashamed to let anyone know what was going on. Because of the shame I felt, I lived in the
prison I had created in my own mind throughout the rest of my childhood.
My moods were all over the place, but I was able to learn
how to hide it, and I managed to hide it well enough through most of my early
adulthood. During that time I was in an
abusive marriage and being that I felt lousy about me as a person, I felt that
I deserved what I was living. When I
finally spoke to my sister about the life I was living she told me that she
would figure out how to get me out of the situation. Within the month of our discussion, my sister
had a heart attack and eventually died from it three months later. Because I have illogical thinking at times, I
held guilt that somehow God was punishing her and me for sharing my
secret.
After the death of my sister I experienced symptoms that
I could not control any longer and was in full blown mania. Most of my symptoms before that time was
depression and when mania hit it was mostly talking loud and too much. Within
two years I managed to spend day and night online in chat rooms thinking that I
alone could save all the children from online predators and needed to be on the
computer all the time. Mind you I had a
ten year old son at the time and needless to say he was raising himself at that
point. I don’t remember much of that
time and I don’t even remember leaving my son with his grandmother and taking a
bus six hundred miles away. I do
remember that his father had threatened to kill me when he got home from one of
his truck driving runs. One thing I could say thank God about was that the man
that I moved near did not take advantage of the situation. That man made sure that I got into a domestic
violence shelter and found me a mental health center that I could go to.
That first mental health facility was that first place I
ever went to that told me I had mental illness.
They told me that I was Bipolar and had both PTSD and anxiety. Right away I felt that I was marked, marked
with a terrible label that I felt I needed to rid myself from. I thought I could cure it and thought I had
nine months later when I moved again and worked two jobs, took classes and
managed my own residence. Little did I know
that I was again in a mania, but was hidden by the fact that I was now a
productive member of society. It was not
until a few years later that I ran into a major depression that caused me to be
unproductive at the great job I had as office manager/bookkeeper, a job I was
able to do without thinking, became unbearable to keep up with. After a few months like that, I was called
into the office of the board members and told that I was fired and I was so
depressed that I thanked them and went home and quite the small part-time job I
did as a tax professional.
Suicide ran through my mind so many times and before my
son was born I had actually tried a few attempts, but after I lost my job I
walked the streets at night, hoping that someone would do the job for me. I still had the key to the tax office that I
worked part-time at and I remember letting myself in and calling the hotline number
I found and refused to tell them who I was, but they figured it out and within
a day I was admitted for the first time to a hospital.
Still with the thought that I could fix myself I managed
to make myself worse. It was also during
this time that I moved to Providence. I
was in and out of hospitals for a couple of years. Finally in 2008 I had a major depressive
period that had me stay in my bed for five months. The Providence Center admitted me into the
hospital once again and it was finally than that I realized that I could not
beat the illness, but to learn how to live with it. It was important for me to trust my doctor and the medications she
prescribed, and my own ability to be well. I knew that if I embraced that hope
and believed that I could contribute to the world that I lived in; my life would
have meaning for me and the people around me.
Learning that I could live with my illness has given me so much
more than trying to control and hide it from others. Having a new empowerment has leaded me to
enter school and carry pretty good grades.
I became more aware of my symptoms and how to vocalize
those symptoms to my case manager, therapist and doctor before they got to out
of control for me to handle them. During
this time I also became aware of NAMI and realized that though mental illness
was still stigmatized, I could find a way to help to educate others about the
illness and learn to be a peer to others.
I was beginning to face the stigma straight on and was less likely to
feel embarrassed or ashamed when I told someone I have mental illness. I began to facilitate a support group through
NAMI and really began to feel strength in myself that I had never felt
before. During
my own recovery, I learned how important and effective self-help groups are for
people coping with mental illness.
Now I am not saying that I am without setbacks. Recently I had to take a semester off of
school, because both my parents had entered hospice at around the same time,
and I know that with stress my symptoms can get out of control. Knowing that I also knew that if I forced
myself to take classes with symptoms I would do more harm than good for me. During this break I am made sure to keep in
constant contact with my mental health workers and watch for signs of any
possible symptoms. Sometimes it can be
hard to decipher what are symptoms and what are natural reactions to stress.
There's no denying that mental illness
will affect what you can and can’t do, but it won’t necessarily be in a
negative way. You may – or may not – be able to have the job or career you were
hoping for. Individuals’ abilities to cope vary. But if you’re one of those who
aren’t able to follow a traditional life plan, there are alternative avenues
that can lead to fulfillment. Living with bipolar disorder is a challenging
journey, but it is also one with many possibilities.
Creativity has been an excellent outlet
for me. I find that writing allows me to
share many things that I find hard to say verbally. I have often thought of writing a book about
my experiences and who knows, maybe one day I will. Taking my camera out gives me the perfect way
for me to show others how I see the world.
I have even been asked to show some of my photos at a gallery, and that
is something that never would have happened had I not embraced my illness and
decided to work around it and with it.
Also because of my illness, I have had
the opportunity to meet wonderful people who have become my support network and
friends. Had I not decided to accept my
illness, I would have never known many caring, strong and loving people.
I used to look around me and wish for
things I didn’t have and how life handed me a big old bag of coal. Once I decided to really look at the illness
and the possibilities around it, I realized that if I rubbed the coal enough, I
could have a diamond. I just had to find
the way to do it. I am not saying that I
totally found that diamond yet, but I am still working on it, and that is what
keeps me going.
Well that is
the end as of today. Tomorrows is
another day, and let’s hope for good things.
TTFN
