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HOPE WORKS!

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but desire fulfilled is a tree of life.
Pr. 13:12

This scripture beautifully describes the journey I have traveled in healing from profound symptoms of Bipolar I disorder and PTSD.  For many years I did not have the hope of living a full life. Hope lay on a dry river bed of despair. To give perspective, I am fifty-eight years old, and I am thriving now. I enjoy meaningful work, writing, family and friends, recreation, and pastimes. I work in the field of geriatric social work, both in hospice and mental health, as a licensed master of social work and a thanatologist (death, dying and bereavement counselor.)

I want to focus on work life since it was so difficult, yet so rewarding for me to come to a place of fulfillment. I had some jobs during my twenties and early thirties. In my late forties I again began to work a bit. But, for the seventeen years in between I received Social Security Disability Income (SSDI.) I felt so ashamed when I first received the letter from the Social Security Administration that I called their office and told them, “I don’t need it. I’m going to be okay. Give it to someone who is truly sick.” I told a friend of mine what I had done, and she said to me, “Call them back! It is a lifeline from God! Take it.” Fortunately, I listened to her because I needed an income to live; I could not work or study beyond a month or two before getting sick again. This was a crushing blow to my hopes for a career. My heritage was of a family of doctors, for heaven’s sake.

Why couldn’t I have hope for that kind of success? What kind of hope could I have? I had been struck with a psychotic episode when I was twenty-five. By the time I was thirty-one I’d had three psychotic episodes, and that third one got my attention. I began the journey to find out what was wrong with me. That was in the day when mental health diagnoses were long in coming for some of us. It took another three years to get a definitive diagnosis, and I went through shelter homelessness, public assistance, and multiple combinations of medications and therapies before I had any kind of stability.

But, despite the best efforts of us all, I had at least twenty-two hospital stays. I stopped counting when I was forty-two years old. When I add it all up I’ve spent about a year and a half of my lifespan in a psych hospital. This is a sad fact, and I hope others can be spared such a history, or such a future.

A turning point occurred when I was forty-five. I became involved with the mental health consumer movement, and soon my state’s Behavioral Health Department contracted me for ten hours/week to revitalize the DBSA local chapter. I am especially proud of my collaboration with the board to get a grant that allowed us to provide contractor positions to consumers. They worked in various capacities, some of them moving on into the work world. I also served as president; giving to others more than I ever thought I could.

What a gift I’ve been given! I haven’t had significant symptoms of Bipolar I or PTSD since that time. I think this is because I: had the attitude, “I’ll do whatever it takes,” relied on my faith and spirituality, worked hard in therapy, stayed committed through all the medication trials, learned recovery tools through DBSA education, and gradually engaged in meaningful work.

Hope deferred does indeed make a “heart sick, but desire fulfilled is a tree of life.” I encourage all of us to grab onto hope because HOPE WORKS!

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

After a distinguished career in the Navy, I was proud to join the public sector utilizing the immeasurable discipline and knowledge I had acquired serving in our country’s military. I enrolled in a rigorous doctor of education (Ed.D.) program at Vanderbilt University with an emphasis in Human Resource Development. I was well on the way to establishing a new career as an independent management consultant. Areas of focus included organizational development, prospective employee screening, and middle-management development.

Always keeping an eye on my roots, I pitched a proposal on the needs of returning veterans to The Tennessee Department of Veterans’ Affairs and even provided testimony to the Subcommittee on Oversight of the Committee on Veterans Affairs to the 102nd Congress. Also, immediately after retirement, I researched the impact of military base closings for then, Senator Al Gore in his Washington, D.C. office. I was a man headed toward success, but my body and mind had different ideas.

Mental health detour

Just shy of completing my doctoral program, I was stricken by an acute episode of depression. I couldn’t get out of bed. I had no energy. I couldn’t focus. After a year of recovery, it became apparent that I would not complete the requirements for my doctorate degree. I was devastated. My goals, dreams and aspirations drifted away.

While not recognizing it at the time, I was one of the fortunate ones. My insurance provided access to the mental health services and prescription medications I required. However, I did not readily accept the help available to me, for I faced an obstacle I now recognize as internalized stigma. It is a legitimate problem for people facing mental health challenges and can delay their receiving treatment and recapturing their lives. I got back my life through the help of a Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance support group. I drove 100 miles one-way, once a week to attend a meeting. By modeling to me their own lives rich in community, meaningful work and friends, I eventually threw off the resentment and bitterness that I had been carrying inside me about living with a mental health condition.

From the board room to the advocacy board

Today I am putting to work all of the education and management skills I acquired before the onset of my depressive disorder to build a new career for myself as a mental health advocate. I am the founder and current president of DBSA Jackson going on its 12th year. This organization conducts three different inspirational support groups. One, a weekly group in its fourth year, is held with inpatients at a local behavioral health hospital.

In 2011 I published my first book ˗ The Two Agreements: A Good News Story for Our Time with all proceeds going to the DBSA Jackson chapter. My book outlines the foundation of a healthy spiritual life of my own design that fuels my passion for service to others. I am presently working with the Small Business Development Center and DBSA Jackson board members to establish a partnership for stability, growth and exposure of the chapter.

I continue to offer leadership serving as the State Director, DBSA Tennessee. But fighting stigma whether internal, at the workplace, or in schools continues to drive me. Serving as a board member on the Consumer Advisory Board for the Tennessee Department of Mental Health and Substance Abuse, with my urging, an ad hoc committee to focus on anti-stigma initiatives has been created. A few days ago, I became a member of the Board of Directors for the Tennessee Mental Health Consumers’ Association, one of the only national mental health consumer/survivor owned and operated organizations.

National advocacy

I recently returned from Washington, D.C. after participating in the largest national mental health advocacy event. I visited my elected officials. I told my personal story and described the dire needs of members of my support group. Before leaving their office, I asked each staff member this simple question, “Can you imagine how I feel each week faced with desperate, resourceless attendees in my support group and I am without any more telephone numbers to give out in order for them to find help?”

Erasing stigma supports access to mental health screenings, enabling those who need it to seek and accept treatment. We all can, and should do our part so that I never run out of phone numbers to hand out.

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder during my sophomore year of college. I distinctly remember how alone and scared I felt during the months leading up to my diagnosis. I knew that something was wrong when I began to fail classes, withdraw from friends, and experience depression and mania, but I did not know what was wrong or where I could go for help. When I finally did open up to family and friends and get the treatment that I needed, it was a relief. At the same time, though, the diagnosis felt like a burden. Like many young adults, I had begun to develop an image of who I was and where I wanted my life to go, and my diagnosis put many goals on hold. My focus shifted from classes, friends, and my future to therapy, medicine, and the belief that my life would be limited by my diagnosis and that I could never fully recover.

The turning point in my recovery journey came when I joined a group on campus, Active Minds, dedicated to educating the college community about mental health and reducing stigma. I realized that I was not alone and that there were other students facing similar challenges, as well as those who did not have a mental health issue but cared and wanted to make a difference. Through participating in the group, I no longer felt isolated and began to see my bipolar disorder as a strength that could be used to help others. I now viewed past events, such as taking a semester off or struggling in a class, not as failures but instead as obstacles that I had overcome. I finally felt optimistic about my future and my ability to lead a productive and happy life.

It has now been seven years since I discovered that I had bipolar disorder. Through the support of family, friends, professors, and doctors, I graduated from college and am now working as a peer specialist, supporting individuals as they go through their own mental health recoveries. I am living on my own, have meaningful relationships with family and friends, and can genuinely say that I am living the kind of life that I had been striving for before my diagnosis. Life no longer feels limited, but full of possibility and hope.

Maintaining my personal wellness has been a critical part of my recovery. In addition to the excellent care that I receive from my therapist and psychiatrist, I have learned to reach out to family and friends when going through a difficult time. A large part of getting this support has been working to overcome the shame often experienced by those with mental health conditions. For me, self-acceptance was the catalyst towards truly engaging in my recovery and seeking out the support that I needed and deserved. In addition, being surrounded by people who believed that I could recover instilled a belief within me that my life can move forward.

Seven years ago, I felt defined by my diagnosis. My hopes and dreams seemed shattered. In retrospect, I realize that it was the consistent love and support from those around me that kept those hopes and goals alive within me. This is not to say that every day is easy or symptom free—being well takes work. However, I now believe that I, and anyone dealing with a mental health condition, have the ability to recover, be well, and lead full and satisfying lives. Being an individual with bipolar disorder used to be a source of shame, and the core aspect of my identity. Now, I now see it as one strand in the colorful tapestry of who I am, and who I hope to be.

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

If you met me five years ago, it may well have been on a locked psychiatric ward. I may have told you I was a prophet, or a high-level advisor to Barack Obama, or a goat, or all of the above.

It took ten years, a suicide attempt, an acute manic episode and a psychotic break for me to finally get an accurate diagnosis of bipolar disorder. By that time, I was 29, and I had already graduated law school, passed the bar, earned a Master’s in Public Health, published my first book and won an award for it. I’d also overcome a serious physical illness that nearly killed me, married the smartest person I’ve ever met and read all three parts of Dante’s Divine Comedy. In short, things were going well.

Then I lost my mind. For years I’d been jumping from paradise to purgatory to hell and back. It was my normal. I was sensitive, eccentric and creative. I was highly in tune with the bigger picture. I was a philosopher. I was not crazy.

But alas, I was—or at least well on my way. I received my diagnosis in isolation. Literally and metaphorically. Still under the spell of mania and psychosis, I was having none of it. I would have been more likely to accept a diagnosis of prostate cancer than bipolar disorder.

It took roughly a month for me to believe and acknowledge my diagnosis. The antipsychotics worked remarkably fast, and soon, I was confronting the reality of my hallucinations, delusions, and erratic and irrational behavior from the perspective of someone who was neither acutely manic nor psychotic. I couldn’t very well deny the diagnosis after looking back at the things I’d done while manic: disrobing in public, yelling obscenities at an infant, trying to give away all my money and belongings—and that’s not even the half of it.

While I was quick to accept my diagnosis, I was far from happy about it. Despite the fact that I’d already achieved a good deal professionally and personally by that point, part of me was sure I’d never do anything even remotely useful again. Part of me was sure I’d be disabled for the rest of my life. And part of me was sure I’d never write again, let alone get someone to publish anything I wrote.

This August, my second book, Haldol and Hyacinths: A Bipolar Life, was published by Avery, an imprint of Penguin Random House. I’m now able to make a living as a full-time writer, and I recently realized a longtime dream of mine—getting an editorial published in The New York Times. My book, that op-ed and plenty of speeches and articles in between relate directly to my experience living with a mood disorder. Some might say I’ve managed to make a living off of my “disability.”

I say that I’ve managed to make a life that works for me by finding value in variation. I’m not cured by any stretch. I struggle with this illness every day. But I have consistently refused to believe the countless people (including many mental health professionals) who told me that I couldn’t get anywhere near where I am today—and that has made all the difference.

Living with bipolar disorder, writing and speaking about it, and gaining strength from others who share in this fight, I’ve learned never to underestimate the power of compassion, perseverance, resilience and faith. I now know that I can come back from hell, that I need not settle for purgatory and that heaven will wait for me. A hard-won lesson for sure, but well worth it.

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

I was born in the middle of the great depression in 1933.  Hoover was president and my family was trying to make ends meet.

I must have been depressed from my early years. I wrote a suicide note when I was in the third grade. My father tore it up and said, “What a dumb thing to write.” That was the end of it.

I struggled through high school on the honor roll or, when depressed, on the dishonor roll. The same happened in college, but I received my Bachelor of Science in Education and got a job teaching. I married my wife Dorothy and had a son. Two more sons were born and I got my Masters Degree. I changed jobs, looking for something more rewarding. Depression was always in the way.

I took on several volunteer jobs with community groups and began to medicate myself with alcohol. My depression got worse, and in November of 1980, I was hospitalized. I was in the hospital until the end of April, 1981.

Dr. Martin Kafka had me try an experimental medication. It took time to find the right dosage. He also introduced me to DBSA, a new group for people with depression.

I know now that three things are necessary for keeping me well. The first is finding a doctor you can work well with. Second, taking the time to find the right medication, and third, to have a good support system that includes family and my DBSA Boston group.

I have worked with DBSA Boston from 1983 and have taken an active part in the group. For twenty-seven years I have worked in the office three days a week. Though depressed, I never waited for better days to come or tried to recapture better days past.

I drive fifty-two miles each way to get to the office to be of help to others.

There were bad days when depression was a burden, but with the help of family and my DBSA friends, life could become better.

Hope is what I have. Hope that tomorrow will be better than today. Hope that I can be of help to others who have the same ailment as myself.

DBSA honored Everett Page with the 2013 Life Unlimited Award at the DBSA 2013 National Conference.

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

What I have learned about living with and overcoming bipolar disorder can be summed up in three words: faith, hope, and knowledge. Faith cements your hope that you will overcome, and knowledge informs on how to live well, using better judgment in managing what can be a devastating and life-altering disease.

After a diagnosis of bipolar disorder in 2001, which came at the heels of a harrowing post-partum season of my life, I momentarily lost more than just my sanity and ability to cope. I lost the solid footing under me of memories and experiences of my life as I was swept up in a whirlwind of retrospective questioning. As a spiritual person, I had revisited every “mystical” encounter and questioned it. As a new mom, I revisited every decision I had made and wondered if I knew what I was doing. The questions continued: Was my marriage based on manic impulsivity? Was this the reason why I could never finish anything I started? Or spent uncontrollably? Or was increasingly anxious and paranoid of people and the world? Finally, was I really just the sum total of chemicals gone awry in my brain?

I was left to figure myself out, believing that I was stricken with something so dark and awful that I could never find anyone with whom I could relate. I didn’t have cancer. I didn’t have high blood pressure or heart disease or diabetes. I was—as I believed—weaker than the world in mind, body, and soul, and I would never measure up. My highs and lows were devastating. The depressions were abysmal beyond description, and I consider myself someone who finds it pretty easy to describe things. The suicidal ideations were always by my side. But all hope was not lost.

Reluctantly, I began taking medication and attending individual and group therapy that very same year. I quickly (and gratefully) learned that I didn’t need to hang up my faith in God, life, and health, because I was in good company. Interestingly, before my diagnosis, I remember always relating all too well to writers and poets, the likes of Emily Dickenson, Charles Spurgeon, Samuel Johnson, Robert Frost, William Blake, and even being disturbed by but understanding Virginia Woolf and Sylvia Plath’s plight. I found I understood them somehow. Now I know why.

And now I have actually met and dined and spent quality time throughout the years with many brilliant but burdened minds who have shown me that I am not alone and that I am actually in the best company. Fast forwarding to today, I started college in 1993, the same year of my first actual “break” or manic episode, and finally graduated with a Bachelor of Science in 2005. The road in between was not always easy, but was definitely worth it. I am now entering my second semester of graduate school. To learn more about the great minds that baffle and inspire me, I am working towards a Master of Arts Degree in English Literature and Creative Writing with a concentration in poetry.

My journey has been a long one and it continues. I have found health through a plethora of resources including my faith, medication, therapy, the support of my friends and family, my son’s smile, and informing myself incessantly on everything from research to the experiences of contemporary published authors and celebrities who fight along with me. Know that you don’t have to lose your faith, but you just have to grow its boundaries. See that hope is everything even in the most unsuspecting things: creation, the miracle of life itself, artistry, music—the list goes on. And educate yourself on what is happening in your brain and your emotions. That is more than half the battle! There’s always hope. There’s always a reason to look in the mirror and say, “I’m not just a survivor. I’m an overcomer.” There really is nothing you can’t still endeavor to do.

Listen to the mustn’ts, child. Listen to the don’ts. Listen to the shouldn’ts, the impossibles, the won’ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me—Anything can happen, child, anything can be.
–Shel Silverstein, Poet

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

A diagnosis of bipolar disorder can change your life in an instant. Learning to not be defined by that diagnosis takes faith, support, and sheer will. My diagnosis came in September, 2001, but I had been suffering for years before that. I struggled with rapid-cycling mood swings that could take me from euphoric highs to agitated depressions within days, sometimes hours. Medication brought no relief, other than to render me too cloudy and lethargic to do much of anything. I had to leave behind a promising career in the law because working became impossible. I was not physically or emotionally available to my husband who struggled daily to take care of me and provide a stable home for our two daughters.

I was lucky to have disability insurance, and spent the next few years trying to cope with the illness. I saw a therapist, and I had a support team of friends and family. I tried some simple jobs and some community involvement, but the depression, hypomania, panic, and anxiety always got in the way. Each time a new symptom arose, I was back at the doctor for another medication adjustment. The changes never brought relief and often had undesirable side effects. By 2005, I was on a cocktail of seven medications that left me so disoriented I could barely leave home.

It was then that I went to an affective disorders clinic at a hospital three hours from my home. It was worth every mile of the trip. That consultation resulted in a change in meds that gave me a new lease on life. It took months to make the adjustment, and it wasn’t easy. I faithfully took my meds, kept all my therapy and doctors appointments, and engaged my support network. And, I got better.

Then the disability ran out, and we simply could not survive on one income. I started looking for a job. Although things were going much better health-wise, I had no idea whether I was up to the task. Could I stay focused? Could I stay on task? Could I even manage to get to work every day and on time?

I would have worked in any job that produced a paycheck, but I was fortunate to find one in human resources, a field related to my former law practice. I took a chance and told my closest co-workers that I had bipolar disorder, because I knew I would need them to be part of my support team. They were compassionate and understanding. There were times I thought I would never make it through the day, but they were there to help me stay the course. I have been employed full time since then. I have been able to further my career with positions of increased responsibility, and I am now the human resources director for a rehabilitation hospital. I’ve served on the board of my professional organization and volunteered with community organizations and my daughters’ schools.

Working a steady job was important, but I also needed to find an outlet for a personal passion: performing. In 2007, on a whim, I auditioned for a community theater production. I hadn’t done theater since I was in my 20’s. I was thrilled to land a role in the ensemble along with my husband and daughter. It was a challenge—six weeks of rehearsing several nights a week and weekends, all while working full time and having a family. I had to promise myself to sleep regularly and take my meds to keep balanced. I’ve never worked so hard or had so much fun. Then two years later I did another show, and another after that. This summer, I will perform in my seventh musical production since returning to the stage. I have joined a women’s choir that is as much about support and sharing as it is singing. I have even started to take ballet. Nothing makes me feel more alive than taking the stage, and I count my fellow actors, dancers, and choir-mates among my closest friends.

It’s been twelve years since my diagnosis. No one thing has allowed me to live a life this full. I’m thankful each day for the people in my life who told me it would be better, helped me believe it, and then made it come true.

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

“Never Give Up.” Three bold words written across my favorite SGI International t-shirt. The simple phrase resonates with a lesson that I learned from living with bipolar disorder: be relentless. Living with bipolar disorder for twelve and a half years made me relentless in never giving up on myself, in fully pursing my spirituality, and in never giving up on others.

From my initial diagnosis, bipolar disorder taught me to be relentless. Although I was riding in the backseat of my parents’ white minivan that spring of 2000, mania brought me into a New York psychiatric emergency room. I was speeding towards a wall of confusion in my manic state. I saw Jesus on the corner in one moment; in the next, I could speak Russian. Insight deluded me. Five hours after being brought to the ER, I was admitted. Now separated from my parents, I began my journey to piece my sanity back together.

That summer, I prepared to return to Harvard University for my junior year. It would be four years later, however, that my graduation robe would hug my shoulders. My time at Harvard became a mix of highs and lows, but mostly lows.

“My couches were like coffins—they held the seat of my dreams, sleep was stitched into cushions of my love seat.” These lines are from my original poem “Nadir,” and speak to the depression that I experienced.

In spite of the highs of the few hypomanic episodes and the multitude of depressive lows, my spirit was relentless. Over the course of years, I stuck to my treatment plan, adjusted my regimen according to doctor’s orders, worked with my helping professionals, attended support groups, and developed healthy coping mechanisms. Because of my condition, I could never give up in the pursuit of a balanced me.

My illness taught me to also be relentless in my pursuit for a spiritual connection. Even though the anguish of depression had me curled up on my dorm room floor, I still prayed. I sought the balance of spirituality and the comfort it brings. The relentless pursuit of spirituality was essential for me to realize that the moods and cycles that I experienced were a reflection of the larger spiritual system and nature’s ebbs and flows. Although difficult in the midst of experiencing the highs and lows, I gained comfort in knowing that I was not alone; even the seasons spoke to my condition.

My mother held her head in the way that only a distressed mother can that night in the ER. Even through my manic fog, I could see the pain on her troubled face. Now, looking back, I know what that was—a mother’s love. My father expressed his love in his own way: “Go to sleep, son, go to sleep,” he said in his tenor voice, trying to coax me to rest. I was helpless as a little child. Yet, this same distress made my parents fearlessly relentless.

My parents, 007 stand-ins, twice shuttled me from Harvard back to NY because I could not complete the semester. I left during the cover of night. Both times my parents were there to swiftly whisk me away. I had my parents, but more importantly, I had two souls who would not give up on me.

Looking back on those nights, I see that my parents had a relentless faith in my ability to pull through the mania and the depression. Their relentlessness taught me a profound lesson: do not give up on others. The question that I ask when I see some of my friends going through the throes of depression is, “How can I give up on you?” I may not be able to help each one of my friends, but I know I can say a prayer and believe.

Twelve years after my diagnosis, I am proud to say that I have obtained dual masters degrees from Teachers College, Columbia University, pursued a coaching certification, and loved each bit of helping students while working in higher education. I am the proprietor of Live Breathe, LLC, a consulting business which focuses on speaking, coaching, and group leadership for college students, companies, and adults. I also work with National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) in two capacities: as a presenter for the In Our Own Voice program and as an outreach coordinator for the Breaking the Silence lesson plan distribution project in Long Island. I record and write poetry, exercise, and maintain a vegan diet.  Please feel free to contact me or join my Facebook page to find out about the work I do.

Twelve years later, I am strengthened by my guiding life purpose and the knowledge that I cannot give up on myself, others, or my spiritual practice. I am certain relentlessness is built into my DNA.

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

My first depression hit when I was 16. After an increasing downward spiral of drinking and abusing prescription drugs, I attempted suicide by overdosing on pills and was taken to the psych ward. I remained there for six weeks. Upon my release, I felt this crippling shame, this horrible sense of being flawed and bad. Unfortunately, there was no education at the time and no one explained to me what I was going through. My whole personality changed from that of an extrovert to that of a hermit who isolated and avoided people. Amazingly, my depression was not diagnosed at this time and I wasn’t given any medication or much help. For the next 17 years, I lived with untreated depression that colored everything in my life.

After high school, I went to music school to pursue my dream of becoming a professional guitarist, but my depression got in the way. I thought it was normal to have periods, sometimes for weeks where I felt totally down and unable to play. It was incredibly frustrating. I knew I loved the guitar, but half the time I felt like I didn’t care about anything. When things weren’t going well, I would plunge into depressions that lasted up to a year, isolating myself from everyone, sleeping most of the time, and spending hours watching TV. At 26, I hit rock bottom. Doctors told me that my music career was over due to a case of recurring tendonitis. I felt like my life was at an end. I just wanted to die.

Then something changed. Looking back, I realize that my depression temporarily lifted, and, all of a sudden, I couldn’t isolate myself anymore. I had to get involved in something. I began to do volunteer work at the Vancouver Crisis Centre and found something besides music that I loved to do and was good at. The Crisis Centre saved my life. I met all these great people who were volunteering there, and I really enjoyed being on the lines, partly because I could totally relate to many of the callers.

Eventually, they hired me to be their trainer, and I began to make use of my gift with humor by bringing in fun things to do with the volunteers during their training. Everyone loved it, and I started to get calls from some of the volunteers’ employers asking if I could come in and do workshops for their staffs. It was at this point that my career as a professional speaker on humor in the workplace was born. Today I give presentations to hundreds of organizations across North America, speaking at conferences, conventions, and corporate events.

It was also at this time that my depression was finally diagnosed. A psychiatrist I was seeing told me she thought I was depressed. At first I thought she was nuts, but she finally talked me into going on medication. It made a huge difference. Though I was more in control of my moods and ability to cope at this point in my life, the medications got me to a point where I didn’t always have to worry about coping. It’s been almost 15 years and I’m still on medication, albeit a different one, and incredibly grateful for it.

Obviously recovery involves a lot more than just taking meds. I’ve had years of therapy; I exercise regularly, eat a healthy diet, and, among other things, enjoy my career, family, and friends.

During my stint at the Crisis Centre, I completed a counselor training program and began working as a therapist in private practice in 1991. I still see clients today, although I’ve had to cut back due to my busy schedule. My entire practice has always been on sliding scale. There’s a tremendous need for counseling out there, and the sad thing is that many people can’t afford it. I think that’s just wrong. So over the years, I’ve made all sorts of deals with people so they could see me.

I also discovered stand-up comedy at this point in my life. Eventually I was asked to teach a stand-up comedy course at one of the local community colleges, and that’s what gave me the idea for Stand Up For Mental Health (SMH), my course teaching comedy to people with mental health conditions as a way of building confidence and fighting public stigma. I’d see students overcome long-standing depressions and phobias, not to mention increasing their confidence and self-esteem. There’s something incredibly healing about telling a roomful of people exactly who you are and having them laugh and cheer. I thought it would be a great idea to teach comedy to people who wanted the therapeutic benefits.

So in 2004, with no funding from anyone, I began SMH. Originally, there was only one group in Vancouver, but now I run the program in cities across North America in partnership with organizations like DBSA and NAMI. I give the classes via Skype and then fly in at the end to do shows with the comics. I’ve trained and performed with a group of comics at every DBSA conference since 2008. Hope to see you at the next one!

Please check out the Stand Up for Mental Health site. There are lots of videos of our comics to inspire you and give you a good laugh!

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

In 2002, I was on the way to marriage with the love of my life. I was a workaholic technologist with a comfortable income. Anxiety disorders and a misdiagnosed mood disorder had troubled me since childhood. Ten years later, I’m divorced; my mood disorder is more severe (ultra-rapid cycling, drug-resistant bipolar); my anxiety is worse; I’m going through menopause; I’ve been unable to work for years; my only income is a social security check 85% less than my last paycheck; and—my life is so good my friends and family are jealous. 

Since December 2011, I’ve worked, lived, and traveled the U.S. in a 100 sq. ft. eco-campervan converted to my specifications with solar electricity and a dry composting toilet. The van conversion is designed to be economical, have low environmental impact, and to be a safe, healthy environment for me. It reduces my chemical exposure, provides an environment with no incandescent or florescent lighting, and is a secure, cozy refuge for me, my cat, and my psychiatric service dog. Unlike traditional RVs, it has no propane tank, no open flames, no blackwater tank, and no leveling system. This makes it easier and safer for me to handle when I’m not at my best.

I camp on federal lands, including stunning national parks, much of the year for $10 a night. I have no utility bills, no rent, no mortgage, and no storage fees. My income is spent on high quality, healthy groceries, insurance, and fuel. I love outdoors activities and am proud to be living a greener life with extremely low water use and energy conservation. I have solid relationships with my parents, children, and grandchildren. My mental health is improved; my weight and physical health are excellent.

This low-cost eco-recovery allows me to pay for my mission, the Service Poodle Outdoors/Outreach Tour. I became inspired to do this during my training by Advocacy Unlimited in 2010. My psychiatric service dog, Maeve, and I get the word out about federal civil rights laws that give people with psychiatric disabilities in all 50 states the right to have trained service dogs accompany them wherever the public is allowed, as well as the right to have untrained pets (emotional support animals) in no-pets housing without deposits or fees. I talk to groups and individuals. I have a website; blog; Facebook page; Google+ page; and am active on Quora and in a number of Linked In‘s groups on the topics of disability, Americans with Disabilities Act, and psychology. Maeve and I recently traveled from Connecticut to Portland, Oregon to present our workshop, Mental Health is Going to the Dogs (and Cats), at Alternatives 2012 and I’m beginning a project to write and speak about my recovery and lifestyle. Call me or send a message.

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.
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