The National Alliance on Mental Health...where I give back.
I support The National Alliance on Mental Illness for many reasons. The smallest being that they deserve it. There are a ton of programs and organizations out there that are deserving, but when it comes to selecting one to support, it has to mean something to you.
This one does. It means understanding, acceptance, assistance, and oh so many other things. I have turned to them in the toughest times. With my own mental illness, and when dealing with my son and his, and they have been there. They fight against stigmas that come with being ill on the inside. They push for legislation that makes treatment possible. They provide support, encouragement, and a light at the end of some really dark tunnels. Without support, none of that would be possible, and I probably wouldn't be here writing this to you right now.
Currently, I am medication free. Not because I'm cured, but because I have been diagnosed with a progressive kidney disease and putting chemicals into my body that might help treat my disorder would speed up the progression. I've had some really rough days, but over the last 30 years or so, I've learned how to deal, and when I can't, how to manage one breath at a time.
My story? It's a long and sordid tale, if you care to listen, and it is still being written. I have a mental illness. It's been clinically diagnosed several times. I've been hospitalized, treated, and sent home every time. Still, I'm here. Its a war that I win most days. I haven't killed anyone yet, and I'm still alive, so I can say that. The battles are more than real, though.
See, I've been told since I was 14 that there is a chemical imbalance in my brain, and it keeps me from being able to control my thoughts and emotions. They swing from one extreme to the other and back again, and there is no cure for it. It makes me think about doing crazy stuff on an upswing and want to just lay in bed and die on a downward spiral. It is rare to experience the middle of those two exremes for any length of time. My days are measured in I'm ok (nothing needs to die) and I'm not ok (everything needs to die or I do), dependent on where my mental state is at any given point.
I have been so heavily medicated that I couldn't walk down a hallway or remember my own name for hours at a time. My children have watched me cry uncontrollably and fly off the handle for no reason at all. Be awake for days on end to the point that I didn't make any sense and talked to people and things they couldn't see. They have also seen me sleep or just lay on the couch for weeks at a time, unable to function at all. They have had to give up their entire lives and move on a whim several times. They have watched me struggle to keep a job, keep food on the table, and even keep a roof over their heads. They never got any of the finer things. They couldn't even have a mom that was ok.
I have also been medication free. You would think those would be the really hard times. Well, you wouldn't be wrong. They are hands down, the hardest times. Pretending to be mentally stable when my head and heart are ripping each other apart in an all out war that no one can see but me. It's exhausting, but I manage. For a while. Eventually, I get exhausted and no amount of sleep shy of death will be enough rest. That is when things get crazy.
I spend my time trying everything I can think of to quiet things down on the inside. I feel like someone has pushed the fast forward button on my back and I have to move at hyper speed. I'm full of energy and life, I'm doing all the things, and I could possibly be winning for a change. Friends and family are proud of accomplishments and things I've achieved, but their cheers always come with , "why can't you be like this all the time?" and "Let's see how long this lasts."
In reality, in those times, I'm not doing well and I'm not winning at all. I'm trying every thing I can think of to suppress thinking about how miserable, lonely, and tired I am. For a moment, on that matter, the head and the heart are in agreement, but have to argue about why. I take on more and more stuff to keep myself busy. More winning, more accomplishing, more doing. More plates are spinning.
"Look at me! I'm a bad ass! I can spin 30 plates all at the same time and I've been keeping them all spinning for weeks now!" I don't notice the fighting for a moment. Is there harmony between them? Wow, the quiet is so amazing. Life is bliss! I want more of this. The upswing.
Something happens. From the corner of my right eye, I can see a plate way over there starting to slow down. It's dangerously close to another plate and if it stops and falls, it is going to cause that other plate to stop and crash too, and a chain reaction will knock all of them down. The downard spiral.
One of two things happens here.
1) If my logical brain is winning, it tells me there is no way I can get to it in time. So I sit and watch. The plate stops spinning and crashes to the ground. it clips the other plate and sends it toppling to the ground., as my brain said it would. It shatters. That causes another plate to stop and crash, and the domino effect begins. I'm frozen. All I can do is watch it all happen.
2) If my emotions are running the show, I see the plate slowing down and is about to fall. I must save it at all cost, so I jump to try and spin it again before it can. I land with a thud but tapped it just enough in the nick of time to get it going again. That one plate is spinning beautifully. I saved it! Yay me!!! I sit up, proud of myself for saving the day. Tears fill my eyes as I watch the rest of them fall and shatter on the ground.
In both scenarios, I sit there feeling like a washed up loser, and I can't do anything. The war that I had avoided hearing for a split second, comes roaring back. I get a scolding from both sides for thinking I could manage so much in the first place. I'm at a total loss. Everything I had going is lying in pieces all around me. I have no idea where to even start to clean up. I throw my hands in the air. I don't want to do it any more. Any of it. I want the ride to stop so I can just get off and go home.
I am home, though. This is where I live. There is no other place that I can go inside me. I can't just say I'm done, walk away and leave my thoughts and emotions to work out their differences. It's not a job where I just have to deal with the ickiness of it for a few hours, and then wash my hands of until tomorrow. It is always there.
It gets worse at night, when I'm supposed to be sleeping. I'm tired. I want to sleep, but the war rages on. Keeping my loved ones awake by running the vacuum and doing laundry is not an option. I learned that a long time ago. So I lay there, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. Listening to the chaos within the silence or I reach for my phone.
When I finally do fall asleep, it's time to get up. Getting the sleep that I need isn't as important as getting up and getting started with the day to keep from being called lazy. That I was awake until 4am doesn't matter. They slept, so you should have too.
This is my cycle. The spinning can go on for just a few days, or it can last for months. It varies with what gets put on the plates and how many plates I'm trying to spin. The paralyzing devastation is usually proportionate to the amount lost when everything crashes down. Eventually, I start over again though.
I know this isn't normal. I know something about it isn't right. I feel it. I also hear it from friends and family all the time. When they tell me to pull myself together, get my shit straight, and live like a normal person. They really don't know what they are saying. They wouldn't say things like that to somene dying of cancer. They wouldn't say it to someone who had an outside and visable affliction that they live with every day. They have no problem saying it to me though. It's all in my head. I've managed so much so well for short periods of time. Why can't I manage it all long term?
I am so tired. I'm up and at it again though. Watch me spin these plates.