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Story Category: Life Unlimited

“I don’t want to die, but I don’t want to live in pain,” my internal thoughts said to me during my suicide attempt at the age of fourteen. I didn’t realize until after trying to kill myself that I wanted to be alive.

In ninth grade, I spent nine months in three psychiatric hospitals from 2020 to 2021, and in tenth grade, I spent seven months in a residential treatment center. Throughout that time, I went from being in a safety net to being in a thin blanket, unable to fully protect myself. And how did I battle my suicidal ideation? My hope was stronger than my intrusive thoughts.

After I attempted suicide, I reminisced on what led up to it, and why I wanted to end my life. At the age of twelve, I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder. It caused me intense tiredness, loss of appetite, and sadness holding me back from living the life I knew I could have. I started learning coping skills like opposite action, and radical acceptance, and I eventually reached out for support. However, when the COVID-19 pandemic hit, it sent me into a spiral of desolation, and I disconnected from the hope I had built. All the work I put into battling my depression seemed to fade away, and it got to the point where I needed inpatient care. I arrived as an empty vessel and felt as if I was unfixable. Having to go to inpatient care was extremely difficult. With all the stigma and negative labels about psychiatric hospitals, I was afraid I’d be looked down upon just for struggling. And, of course, it was hard being away from human interaction. But once I got intensive treatment, I understood that I needed and wanted to be able to cope with my depression.

After getting diagnosed with depression, I was tossed from therapist to therapist like a game of catch. This method didn’t seem to help, which pushed me in the wrong direction; a direction of anguish. I knew that I needed a higher level of support, and once I got that support, my mental health drastically improved. The facilities used a type of treatment called Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, (DBT) which introduces a bunch of coping skills and a distinct type of mental training that can help people work on themselves. The concept originates from Buddhism, specifically regarding meditation and mindfulness. Once I got discharged from my most recent psychiatric hospital, I went to a residential treatment center, which was like a step down for me. I still had a high level of support, but I also had more freedom and got to go home during weekends and school breaks. And finally, I was discharged from the residential treatment center and am now in a therapeutic school that also incorporates DBT into its curriculum. After this long journey, I got into a much better mindset. The little twelve-year-old me with a fresh and unfamiliar diagnosis would never believe we’d get this far.

Although I’m diagnosed with depression, it doesn’t define who I am. I’m more than a diagnosis. I’m a person, just like everyone else. I don’t see my depression as a label, but rather as a part of me. Having a mental illness is by all means a struggle. But in a way, I’m also grateful for it. Without it, I wouldn’t be an activist or an advocate, and I wouldn’t have the same awareness and empathy for others as I do now. By writing this piece, I know I can share my story, and connect and relate to others. I want to get across the message that they’re not alone and inspire them to share their story as well.

Shining a light can brighten the tunnel for those who are in the dark.

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

I joined the Marines at 18. My time in the military took me all around the world, most notably the Middle East where I served on Task Force Papa Bear during Operation Desert Storm. My time in the Middle East affected me greatly and aggravated my underlying mental health conditions. Not only was my mental health damaged (as I came back with PTSD) so was my spiritual health, too. My soul hurt and you do not have to be a veteran to experience that.

After my time in the Marines, I went to California for a while and before returning to Chicago, my hometown. I threw myself into work and started drinking and drugging to distract myself from the need to address my mental health problems. I thought I was strong enough to handle my PTSD and depression but eventually my glass house shattered. The major turning point came in 2014 when I suffered multiple gunshot wounds at the hands of the Chicago police, who did not understand the post-traumatic disorder I was experiencing. It hurt not just physically, but mentally and spiritually as well. During my recovery, I thought about how my brother, sister, and father had all died due to addiction and untreated mental health conditions. I decided it was time to commit.

In the past I had addressed my mental health conditions sporadically. This time I attended every program the Veterans Administration (VA) had to offer. I knew addiction was the bigger problem, so I got that under control before I looked at the core issues of PTSD and depression. During the programs I was introduced to a lot of guys who were going through the same things as me. We all were doing therapy together.

I had been volunteering at the VA for almost 2 years when I met an army vet named Rose and learned about all the amazing work, she was providing veterans. She told me about peer support specialists, and I thought, “hey I’m already doing that”. I went to DBSA to go through training and learned there was more to being a peer support specialist than I thought. After completing my training with DBSA, I worked at TLC Veterans and Veteran Path to Hope where I learned so much and honed my skills. Now, I serve as an instructor for the DBSA Veteran Peer Specialists Course and a mentor for peers enrolled in the DBSA Peer Support Specialist Apprentice Program.

As a current college student, already with a job offer from the Department of Defense, I cannot believe I am here now. I could not have pictured my life turning out like this before, but now I like how I and my fellow DBSA Peer Support Specialists apprentices are not letting our mental health issues control us! We are all doing good things! I even plan to climb Mount Kilimanjaro next February. I hope my journey inspires hope for anyone else.

I continue to deal with my mental health in a positive manner and try to live a healthy lifestyle. I work out, meditate, and go to Dual Recovery Anonymous (DRA) meetings. I pay attention to my body’s mental, emotional, and physical signs and even more attention when I feel one part hurting more than another. Every day I walk around clear headed is a day I take as a blessing.

I chose to share my story as a dedication to my daughter, Sydney, who is going through her own mental health journey and whom I love with all my heart.

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

After struggling with depression and suicidality from the age of 11, alongside heavy bullying, I lost my father to cancer when I was 15. It sent me into a downward spiral with steadily declining mental health, finally resulting in me getting a “soft” diagnosis of generalized anxiety disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder, and type 2 bipolar disorder (I wouldn’t get formally diagnosed until age 27 after years of self-advocating).

The journey almost ended with me attempting to end my life with a painkiller overdose in 2015, voluntary alcohol poisoning in 2016, and asphyxiation in 2017. Thankfully, all of them failed, and I finally spoke up to someone about my demons and got proper help.

Entering the world of healthcare, I was afraid of the stigma of being a mental health care provider who was losing their grip at times. Once my closest friends forced me into counseling and to see a psychiatrist, the world finally became a brighter place. I’ve learned to embrace my journey as “a therapist who needs a therapist,” and I’m no longer afraid of that which I previously didn’t understand about myself.

I am an occupational therapist, with a background in nursing and behavioral sciences and a focus on mental health. I was previously a family therapist, and I have completed most of my fieldwork in psychiatric occupational therapy. I volunteer with several psychology-related support groups and am in the process of studying for my certified psychiatric rehabilitation provider (CPRP) credentials, so that I may once again practice mental health. My entire world revolves around unseen illnesses, both physical and psychological, and I’ve come to realize: who better to serve individuals with mental health conditions, than someone who has their own struggles as well?

I’m no longer afraid to tick off the box on resumes that states I have a psychological disability, for those who matter don’t mind, and those who mind don’t matter.

I have attended a DBSA online support group once. It was the most welcoming and open-forum event I’ve ever attended. We came from all walks of life; healthcare workers, accountants, single parents, retail workers, parole officers. I was anxious at first that my so-called “degree of expertise” as caused by my level of education would bar me from making meaningful connections, and that it may even become a power struggle. This wasn’t the case. I was an equal. We were all hurting in our own way. And we all were there for the same reason; regardless of our position in life, we were fighting the good fight.

I believe my empathy and personal experience both inside and outside of psychiatric care have inspired me to be as open as I am. I notice shoulders drop and tensions ease as soon as a “What could you possibly know about my brain?” is answered with “because I’m living this story as well.” Being transparent about my struggle has created a deep-seated trust that I fully believe very few providers (let alone people) ever get with others. My story only defines the parts of me that I allow it to, and I’m glad that I no longer must live under a façade.

After becoming open about my struggles with suicidality and bipolar disorder, the world became a brighter place, and I created genuine relationships with people, almost for the first time.

My mental health challenges may have ruined relationships and friendships in the past, but I don’t let that hold me back from living a full life. I teach several martial arts, record music, and have a beautiful life with my fiancé and surrounding friends. One day, I hope to make radical changes in American healthcare from within the ranks, being a provider who “gets it.” But more than my professional story, I’m just happy to be here. I’ve learned to stop fighting the neurochemicals and go with the flow.

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

When I was 18, I attempted to self-injure. I was then institutionalized and diagnosed with bipolar disorder II and depression. They gave me medication, but unfortunately, being young, I ran away from my diagnosis for 10 years.

When I spoke to doctors, I felt extremely discriminated against as an African American and teen mom. You can understand the difference when someone speaks down to you. I was getting short answers from doctors and being told to just take the medication.

I’m now a social worker, and that experience fueled my career because I know so many people of color are not being cared for properly and given options. We’re given medication, but we’re not given the information, education, or opportunities to manage our mental health in a holistic way. There’s no discussion of nutrition or exercise. It’s just “Take this medication.”

Most recently, a relapse with self-injury led me to try to get back into therapy. When I tried to find treatment, I felt like most people couldn’t understand the cultural aspects of mental health conditions. I didn’t find providers who were culturally competent, and I needed to speak with people who reflected my experiences and spoke to me on my level.

When I tried to get back into therapy, I learned that my previous therapist, a woman of color, had retired. I searched and asked around for another woman of color therapist near me, but to no avail. I really needed support at the time.

That’s when I found DBSA’s online support groups for the Black community. I could finally speak to other people who look like me and share similar experiences. I’ve been attending for three or four months now, and I’m so happy to be a part of it.

I always thought I had to separate my mental health from my career as a social worker, especially as a Black woman. But with the support groups, I can be both. I can show up as who I am, as my whole self.

As a social worker, I can appreciate these support groups as critical for mental health equity for African Americans and for some, critical even for basic survival.

As a person living with mental health conditions, participating in the groups gives me a sense of community and something to look forward to. When I’m having a bad day, I know someone will be there to listen.

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

I live with Bipolar I Disorder. In 2007, while going through a difficult divorce and custody battle at age 45, I became manic and was hospitalized for the first time. It would take me five years to become stable, secure proper medication and accept my diagnosis.

In 2012, I lived with psychosis for 9 months. I experienced 3 more traumatizing involuntary hospitalizations. Finally, a voluntary hospitalization in a different facility helped me to stabilize. At this time, I fully made peace with my diagnosis and began to actively work on my recovery.

In the early years of my recovery, I was very resistant to leave my home to interact with others who were not in my family. I would leave the house only to support my son in his school activities.  Every time I left the house, I was fearful of running into people who witnessed my psychosis. My psychosis experiences were extremely public and the shame was crippling. I worked hard in therapy to release my shame. I worked with my therapist on the goal of leaving my house to go to safe spaces. That’s when I started attending DBSA support groups.

My first memory of attending the DBSA support group in Colorado Springs was this wonderful, vibrant facilitator named Riss, who also lived with bipolar disorder. This was my first introduction to person-first language. I remember immediately feeling less stigmatized and alone. Here was this confident young woman who shared my diagnosis. I wanted to become more like her.

Attendances at these meetings helped me to release my shame and combat stigma. DBSA has taught me that I am a person first and not my illness. This support provides me with a constant source of hope and inspiration.

After attending for several months, Riss asked me to train to become a support group facilitator. I was so honored.

Before bipolar disorder burned my life to the ground, I had an extremely successful career. I have won many awards for my teaching and directing. My theater productions would be seen by thousands of people to great acclaim. I loved my career and mourned its loss.

One night, I was facilitating a group and it became crystal clear to me that this work of peer support was just as valuable and meaningful as directing a show for thousands to see. I had found something I loved as much as directing theater. This realization was miraculous for me.

I have served on the Board of Directors for DBSA Colorado Springs for two years now and was recently honored to accept the role of chapter president. Additionally, I am a virtual facilitator trainer for DBSA National. I love the opportunity to use my teaching background for a cause I am passionate about.

It was at a DBSA board meeting that I first learned about career opportunities in being a peer support specialist. I was amazed that my lived experience qualified me for meaningful employment. I have since completed the training to become a certified peer support professional and just recently became employed to train peer support professional candidates with the Colorado Mental Wellness Network. My experiences with DBSA made this employment possible. I am beyond thrilled.

My involvement with DBSA gave me back my sense of purpose and meaning. Almost immediately, I realized what a privilege it is to walk alongside others as they seek wellness.

Shame can only survive in dark, quiet places. Stopping stigma is critical if we are to be a truly integrated society. My experience as a peer facilitator has shown me that it is my willingness to be vulnerable and authentically share my story that allows me to be helpful to others.

Today, when I run into people who last saw me when I was gravely ill, I say, “I am much better now,” and ask about their lives. Recovery is possible!

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

I was diagnosed with a learning disability and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) when I was very young. As a small child, I had to learn how to persevere and go against others’ pre-conceived notions of who I was and what I could do. 

While still in grade school I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. As time went on, I realized I had the ability to help others. Even after a new diagnosis in 2012 of high functioning autism, I was inspired by how I could use my unique experience to help others. 

Before I found DBSA, it didn’t occur to me that it was possible to become the mental health leader and advocate I am today.  

My first DBSA support group meeting was in 1999. I’ve been involved with DBSA ever since: attending conferences, completing facilitator training, and meeting so many people who became friends and encouraged me along my mental health journey. 

On August 21, 2003, I founded DBSA Succasunna and served as chapter president until 2010.  

I started DBSA Succasunna because I had a hunch that there was a greater need for support groups in that area, and more people would attend if they had the opportunity to. I also wanted to help others find the non-judgmental listening, support and community I had found within DBSA. 

In March 2020 I co-founded another DBSA group – DBSA Hope & Cope which is a support group of the DBSA Morristown Area Chapter. That group began as an attempt to provide more support to individuals at the start of COVID. It still remains and will always be virtual, serving about a dozen people each week. 

Living with depression, anxiety, and autism, I have a unique perspective on the world. I think about things differently. I’m very sensitive and compassionate for other people. 

That’s why I stay involved with DBSA: to help people so the bad things that have happened to me don’t happen to others. People living with mental health conditions have rights and deserve to have choices. I have a diagnosis, but I also have the right to speak up, educate myself and advocate for my own care, because I know my body best.  

I deal with depression every single day. I question why I was put here on this earth. I say to myself: you were put here on this earth to make a difference in other people’s lives. I do that when someone comes to DBSA. I empower people. I show people that nothing can stop their dreams. 

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

Self-harm is something I’ve lived with since I was 13 years old. I’m almost 24 now. I’ve been a mental health advocate since I was 18, but this is my first time writing about self-harm. I’ve been afraid of what opening up would mean for me, and I’ve been afraid of triggering people.

If you’re struggling with self-harm, please reach out to a trusted friend or loved one. It can be hard to find the words you need to explain your feelings, but recovery is possible. I also know the impact my behavior has had on my loved ones, so I hope to answer some questions about self-harm and make it less scary for those on the outside. Together, we can heal.

The Beginning

If the summer between seventh and eighth grade were a montage, it would look like this:

Crying in the bathroom. Problems with body image, boys, flaky friends. And a grandpa dying of brain cancer.

All my problems are in my head. That’s not true, of course. Some of the problems are between me and other people. But no one can see the proof. I can’t even see the proof. It feels silly to be so upset over something that’s only in my head. I need visible proof on my body. I need something I can point to and say, “I hurt. Look here. Here’s how much I hurt.”

This was my introduction to self-harm. My rationale would evolve over the years, but my basic reasoning stayed the same. I had emotional pain, but I was never taught that emotional pain was legitimate. I needed something to show for it.

Another reason I self-harm is for distraction. Living with chronic depression and generalized anxiety disorder, it’s easy for me to get caught up in my head. Self-harm gave me something physical I could care for, and it became addictive.

The Deception

The behavior escalated.

My sister is a nurse. Potential nurses go through intense training, a comprehensive exam, intense clinics, and countless hours of studying. She needed to practice a head-to-toe exam. I freaked out. I couldn’t lift my shirt up. I couldn’t show my belly or hips. There were old and fresh self-harm marks. No one knew yet. I threw a fit and left the room.

I reached out to her while writing this piece. I couldn’t remember the type of exam she was doing. I asked if she remembered when she was in nursing school, practicing for some exam when I freaked out and wouldn’t let her practice on me. She knew the situation I was talking about right away. Before this, I thought only I had engrained memories about my self-harm.

Looking back, I was wrong when I felt so alone. There were people around me who cared, who I could have reached out to.

Dr. Laves

The self-harm continued through college, although less frequently. I started attending DBSA support groups. One of my most challenging symptoms is isolation. I felt like no one could understand what I was going through. DBSA support groups taught me I was wrong. Every time someone said something, at least one other person would say, “Yeah, I’ve been through something similar.” I became part of a community of like-minded, caring individuals on the path to wellness.

I also started receiving therapy at my university’s counseling center. For the first time, I had a provider I actually clicked with, Dr. Karl Laves. But when I wasn’t feeling relief from it, I still felt guilty about the self-harm.

He told me sometimes self-harm doesn’t need to be a major red flag or a sign that someone is suicidal. Sometimes, it can be a coping strategy. And although there might be “better” or “healthier” strategies, loved ones shouldn’t always panic at the sight of self-harm. He said providers can see the meaning or purpose of a behavior without freaking out. Providers can trust people who self-injure to explain what the injury does for them.

I reached out to Dr. Laves while I was writing this piece. I asked him if I had remembered what he said correctly. I had. It was a life-changing perspective for me. I didn’t have to feel guilty, ashamed, weird, or broken. I could keep this coping strategy while I worked on developing other strategies that worked better for me and didn’t leave behind physical marks.

Coping Strategies

I’ve found a few strategies. The reasoning behind self-harm can be complex, so not every strategy works in every situation. I’m still working to find more to add to my list.

Jigsaw Puzzles. I love working jigsaw puzzles. Happy, sad, anything in between. I’ve also found it can be a useful distraction when I want to self-harm. Sorting through the pieces gives my hands something to do.

Red Pen. This is a strategy I thought was silly before I tried it a few times. I use this strategy when I have repetitive negative thoughts about myself. The thoughts are often focused on just a few words. I use a red pen to write these words where I would usually self-harm. It allows me to get the words out of my head and into the “real world.” Then, I can wash them off.

Napping. This sounds counterintuitive, but when I get overwhelmed by external situations (like work, a busy schedule, or an unfortunate change of plans), I like to take a nap. I guess it’s like turning a computer off and back on. Sometimes it can be difficult to calm down enough to fall asleep, so I like to use progressive relaxation.

Five Senses. Sometimes I self-harm to calm myself down if I feel a panic attack coming on. I’ve found that using the five senses grounding strategy can often be just as effective.

Today

I’m still not healed. I haven’t found the perfect alternatives yet, but I’m trying every day. It does get better. I went from self-harming nearly every day in eighth grade to averaging maybe once every couple of months now. Self-harm is an addictive habit, and that’s one of the reasons I advise against it.

But, if you’ve already gone down that path, there is hope. It’s a work in progress, but it’s progressing. And, if you’re a loved one, you can take comfort in providing the best support you’re able to.

Healing is a group process; we can do it together.

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

Depression slowly invaded my life at age 57. I was at the top of my game in my career at the IRS, had 22 years of sobriety under my belt, and retirement was just around the corner. I was diagnosed in November but as early as five months before the diagnosis, I experienced troubling symptoms—weight loss, a churning stomach caused by anxiety, and an inability to manage issues I used to handle effortlessly—that suggested something was wrong.  

My doctor put me on an antidepressant that only increased my anxiety and disrupted my sleep. I white-knuckled it through Christmas, my birthday on December 29th, and New Year’s.   

In January, I decided to check myself into a hospital. I wasn’t sure what help I would find there but I hadn’t found the answers at home. I was placed into an intensive outpatient program that delivered exactly what I needed: education that I had an illness and tools I could use to manage my anxiety and depression.  

There was a flyer posted on the bulletin board about DBSA. Some of the people in my group attended the DBSA meeting and said it was good. I thought, “Alcoholics Anonymous meetings have helped me live with alcoholism, maybe DBSA could help me with depression.”   

I support the self-help philosophy of DBSA, because I have never liked receiving unsolicited advice. Everyone speaking from their own lived experience seemed to be the best way to give and receive support in a peer group. Then I took a Peer Support Specialist training and it made perfect sense. I am the expert on my recovery, just like everyone else in the meeting is the expert on their recovery. I have all the solutions to my problems inside me—I just need help finding them. Peers help me find the answers by asking good questions and offering to share what has helped them.   

I have learned so much in meetings about how to remain well and handle life’s big and small challenges. It’s comforting to know I can attend a meeting whether I’m happy or severely depressed and the group will meet me where I’m at.     

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

I have been receiving mental health treatment for bipolar I disorder for 38 years. In all that time, I have never had a Black therapist.

I’ve had doctors misunderstand me and tell me that I’m having a manic episode when I’m not. I’m a licensed engineer and a filmmaker. My doctors didn’t believe me. They couldn’t believe that a Black person could accomplish so much; They didn’t take me seriously. Because of this, I’ve had to change doctors frequently because so many do not understand the cultural implications of having a mood disorder as a Black person.

I accomplished all these things not because I live with bipolar disorder and have manic episodes, but because I have talent.

When I learned about the support groups DBSA has specifically for the Black community, I thought “I need to look this up right now.” My heart exploded. I haven’t stopped going to the support group since.

The support groups have helped me realize that I have strength other people do not. Because of my condition, I have had to overcome so much; That is strength.

The sense of community in the support groups helps with my stability and gives me validation for my experiences.

For me, the support groups are a place where we can let our hair down. We can talk about the things people say to us that make us feel bad. A lot of us have experienced the same types of discrimination and can say “Yeah, I’ve heard that too. I understand.”

In the Black community, there is an issue with stigma and your family not supporting you. We offer each other support because many of our families don’t understand the condition. With the support groups, it’s like we become a family to each other.

I still do experience discrimination. It’s still hard to find a Black therapist because of troubles with my insurance. But I know that I have a group of people who have had similar experiences to mine that I can lean on; people who understand where I’m coming from and can help me get to where I want to be.

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

Summer of 2021 will mark 20 years of my living with Major Depressive Disorder and Generalized Anxiety and Panic Disorder. I was diagnosed at 19 years old, right before starting my second year of college. It started with what I would later understand as psychosomatic symptoms such as headaches or an upset stomach. That progressed to eating less and losing weight. Soon I found myself overwhelmed by unexplainable and persistent sadness. I would cry for hours in my room, suffering in silence, praying for peace in my mind and heart.     

During the earlier years of my diagnosis, I struggled most with finding a medication that worked for me and remaining compliant with treatment. As soon as I began feeling better, I’d interrupt my progress by stopping meds and therapy. I didn’t want to take a pill everyday to help me function and even though therapy was helpful, my inconsistency never allowed me to fully benefit from it. There were several times when I was unemployed, without health insurance and unable to access the invaluable treatment I desperately needed. 

For years, depression and anxiety invaded my mind, body, and spirit. It caused me to barricade myself, my emotions, and my heart from the world. Although I was surrounded by people who loved me and hated to see me suffer, they just didn’t know how to help me; And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to help myself. My mind was frequently flooded with feelings of worthlessness and failure, and one somber night, I considered ending my life; but God had other plans for me. 

By 2019, I was mentally and emotionally exhausted. I chose to enter a PHP (partial hospitalization program) / IOP (intensive outpatient program) and it was one of the best decisions I have ever made. Although the process felt like an emotional rollercoaster, I now have skills to maintain a healthy and strong mind and heart. I developed a voice that is used to express my emotions unapologetically. I no longer carry shame or embarrassment about my mental illness. I accept not only my diagnosis, but myself, for who I am and all I have accomplished in spite of the bully that is depression. 

Today I dedicate myself to mental health advocacy, education, and peer support as I currently prepare to become a Certified Recovery Support Specialist. I never imagined anything positive would come from the affliction of my lived experience, but now I have the opportunity to share my story with so many others in recovery, encouraging and reminding them to never forget the value of their lives. For that, I am grateful.

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.
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