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I was twenty when I found myself in a mental institution being handed a diagnosis of bipolar disorder. In that moment, I felt like a shattered version of the person I had once known myself to be. The old me had value, I thought, and was someone whom I, myself, had liked. How had I gotten there?

In the two years prior to this I had tried, unsuccessfully, to attend several colleges. Racing thoughts mixed with grandiosity were followed by the devastating inability to put a coherent string of words together on paper. Both sides of this roller coaster interrupted my attempts to manage my assignments and the stress that came with them.

I had to move back in with my parents because I could no longer take care of myself. Eventually, I became more stable. But being stable wasn’t enough to feel like my life mattered. Instead, my existence felt empty. All I saw in myself were my limitations. I couldn’t finish school and a trail of dead-end jobs had left me empty handed. It seemed that every direction I looked, there was nothing for me.

Things started to change when I met Tammy, a disabilities student service councilor at the next community college I attempted. I had returned this time to take one class for the simple purpose of something to do. I didn’t dare let myself think I was going back for real. But Tammy validated my feelings of frustration at not being able to continue my education because of my symptoms.

The first day we met she asked me a magic question: “What kind of supports do you have in your life?” I looked back at her blankly. Tammy added, “Did you know this whole office is designed especially to help people with disabilities overcome their challenges in school?” She also knew people that could help me get a job and organizations that could help me learn more about my illness and re-build my self-esteem.

This began a long series of introductions to people and organizations that had been there all along, just waiting to help me.

Flash forward ten years: I now hold a BA in Human Services and recently completed a graduate program in nonprofit leadership and management at the University of San Diego. I have become an active advocate for young adults, co-founding Impact Young Adults, a peer-run nonprofit offering social events and leadership development. A few years ago, I joined the Board of Directors of International Bipolar Foundation. My latest endeavor, ImpactMORE, partners with young adults who want more from their mental health discovery process. We support projects identified by participants that will make a meaningful difference in their community. Through this, young adults see that their contribution, and their life, matters.

All of this began when one person saw something in me that I couldn’t see myself—someone who could recover. It was not an easy road that led me to these accomplishments, and it was not due simply to luck, except for my chance meeting with Tammy. The reason I have been successful and continue to grow and accomplish the goals I set for myself is because I have taken advantage of the help that was available to me and I have hung in there. I would not have completed my undergraduate degree if I hadn’t listened to the advice of those I had grown to trust or utilized the support available to me. And I most certainly wouldn’t have completed my graduate degree if I had stopped every time I failed (which, believe me, I have!).

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

I walk into class, my shield a thick blue binder filled with my countless ideas and thoughts—my nature in disorganized paper form. Inside hide the pictures of relief—Cobain, Poe, Whitman, Twain. Others. Success stories. Reminders of what is possible inside my world. Our world.

The bipolar world.

I sit, my own little planet, and watch the passionate pleas and anecdotes—“Ban the ‘R Word,’” “Words Hurt,” “If You Only Knew Me”—on the student television show. I recognize their causes and struggles with a mixture of great respect and weary indifference. I’ve heard it all before; I’ve seen the beauty of social progression towards acceptance.

But there’s something missing.

Enter May: Mental Health Awareness Month. My mind has become increasingly preoccupied with the serious lack of education and consideration in the public school system for mental health awareness.

One could say that I have experienced the full and direct effect of such prevalent ignorance amongst today’s youth.

I received the diagnosis of bipolar II at the young age of thirteen. For nearly four years I catapulted through the air, soaring up and up and up only to plummet down to Earth, back to avoiding friends and feeling listless and empty. Bipolar disorder has been described as “the worst hell imaginable,” and I could not agree more.

That is why I take offense to the erroneous vision of mental illness. The stigmatized, generalized, and absolutely searing use of “bipolar” in everyday speech. Especially when the label is met with such horror and protest, such disgust at the very thought of being “crazy,” a daily experience I find to be incredibly upsetting and painful. I know that I am not alone in this.

Society has painted such a “comprehensive” portrait of this disorder; people can hardly tear their eyes from it. They refuse to listen or attempt to modify their reinforced views.

Some things need to change. By 2020, I want people to catch themselves when a bipolar label starts to slip off their tongues, and I want the label to be recognized as the derogatory and hateful term that it is. I want society to recognize the physical nature of the disorder; to capitalize on the strengths of an individual with bipolar disorder instead of seeing the disorder as a weakness or a horrific flaw.

In order to do so, the public school system needs to implement awareness programs in their curriculum for young students. Reinforcement of a concept can have positive repercussions—we learn the social inappropriateness of the “n-word” and the archaic term “retarded” at a young age. Why not “bipolar”? Though progress of consciousness is slow moving, if we start now, we are that much closer to ending the stigma. I no longer want to feel ashamed and afraid of my identity, and I want the silent community of people like me to shed their fear and embrace their identity for our world to see.

This essay won First Place in the 2012 International Bipolar Foundation’s high school essay competition.

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder in 2003 at the age 29 after friends and coworkers intervened, confronted my mood instability, and took me to the hospital. While I had pockets of depressive episodes and periods of productivity, I had never felt so helpless as I did then. I had worked hard to maintain stability by staying busy through multiple jobs, graduate school classes, and an excessive exercise routine. After a while, I couldn’t mentally maintain this schedule and I crashed. I knew I was always a sensitive person who felt things deeply, but I had no idea with what I was dealing, nor how long it would take me to get my life back on track.

At first, I fought treatment options, fearful that they would break down the defenses I had built and afraid of potential side effects from the medication. Once I accepted the help, I felt lost, trying to find my way through the mental health system. Often, I was fighting myself as much as I was fighting this system. I even had a therapist fire me after a couple of years for lack of progress. It was during this time that I had multiple hospitalizations, because I felt more comfortable in the hospital than I did in my own skin. At times, I was self-destructive and abused one of the medications prescribed to me. Once I found an effective medication regimen, became involved with DBSA Metro Detroit, and accepted my diagnosis of bipolar disorder, I finally began moving forward in my recovery.

My journey started with my friends, family, and coworkers, and these people still play an important role in my treatment plan. I have now added my therapist, psychiatrist, medications, and DBSA to the mix. Currently, I am the president of DBSA Metro Detroit and run one of our 11 support groups. Being involved with the other board and group members helps to give my life meaning and purpose. In addition, I also go to therapy once a week with a therapist who fully supports all parts of me unconditionally through the Internal Family Systems model. Finally, I have a psychiatrist who is knowledgeable in explaining and tweaking medications and gives me a voice in my treatment plan. While my diagnosis does not define me, it is a part of who I am. Once I accepted it, I allowed myself to get on the road to recovery, and I’m finally living again.

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

I was first officially diagnosed with bipolar disorder at the age of nineteen after falling into a suicidal depression. I thought that I was the only one in the world experiencing what I was going through. When I was finally hospitalized I saw that other people were dealing with similar things, but they were all much older than me and had very different life circumstances. It was difficult for me to connect with my fellow patients.

After I left the hospital I struggled with extreme bipolar episodes and in turn felt more and more alone. Feeling like I had no one to talk to or who could understand what I was going through, I wrote. I wrote in journals every day, trying to come to terms with my illness, trying to understand what was happening to me, and trying to find a way to release all of my thoughts.

Eventually, after writing for many years, my mom and I decided to combine our writing and create a book that shares our story of a mother and daughter struggling through a diagnosis of a mental health condition.

Today, our book, Perfect Chaos (St. Martin’s Press), has been published and we are sharing our story with a wider audience. Finally, by voicing my story, I realized that I was not alone and that mental health conditions are universal. Being open about my journey showed me that I could help others who also felt alone with their illness. It was not only a relief, but it was also empowering.

Writing remains a stabilizing support in my life. Through sharing my story with honesty, I have learned that I am not alone and I have found allies in my journey. I also found that I receive better support from my medical providers. Through organizations like DBSA, we can begin to share our stories and let others know that they are not alone, but rather a member of a strong and supportive community.

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

The elite United States Army Airborne Rangers’ motto “Rangers Lead The Way!” originated when the US Army Rangers were tasked in the June 6, 1944 Normandy Invasion to arrive on the beaches under a swirling maelstrom of withering German machinegun and artillery fire, to climb straight up a cliff and destroy enemy gun emplacements that threatened to annihilate US troops.

I became a Ranger in 1977 after completing the grueling United States Army Ranger School Course. This training was 58 days straight with two eight hour breaks, and, up to that point in my life, losing 25 pounds of body weight was the most arduous task completed. Several months before beginning Ranger School, I witnessed the shooting death of a friend and fellow Infantry Officer Second Lieutenant on an aerial target engagement range. Unknown to me or anyone else—because Post Trauma Stress Disorder was not yet recognized as a diagnosis—I developed a raging case of PTSD, complete with black dog depths of depression, anxiety, survivor guilt, and a deep sadness I feel even to this day thirty five years later.

I saw my friend lying,
Brainshot dying
And standing nearby I shall always ask why not I?
–Walter Hudson

After serving three years with the 101st Airborne Division (Air Assault), I left the army to become a roustabout. I wrenched pipes together to build oil wellheads and tank batteries, dug ditches for pipelines, and did whatever was necessary to construct what you might recognize as oil wells. I eventually owned several small independent oil and natural gas exploration and production companies, until one day, someone made a mistake at one of my newly fracked wells and I was struck by a high velocity pipe in the ensuing explosive release of natural gas. Lying unconscious in a cloud of gas, my brain recorded what would become more PTSD stressors, and in the recovery from the physical injuries, I found that I could no longer bear to fill up my diesel car, assist my father on his farm because of the exhaust fumes of the tractor, and I morbidly feared going near my wells. Then tragedy struck again when in a month and a day, I survived two mild traumatic brain injuries that robbed me of the ability to read polysyllable words and understand body language and changed my personality enough that it interfered with many of my relationships. The black dog of depression attacked with ferocity, as subsequently I was forced to abandon graduate school and was later fired from my job as an emergency medical technician. Then on March 9, 1999, I survived the rollover of a pickup truck in which I was a passenger. I required surgery on my right shoulder and had a third TBI. Within seven months, I was diagnosed with narcolepsy and hospitalized for mania, where I was told I had bipolar disorder.

Since then, I founded Advocates For Mental Health, The Depression and BiPolar Support Alliance of Wayne and Holmes Counties (Ohio), and became the second Ohioan trained as a Facilitator of Wellness Recovery Action Plan (WRAP).  Becoming a Master WRAP Facilitator,  I conducted the first WRAP Facilitator Training in Ohio in 2003. Subsequently I assisted Mary Ellen Copeland,  Ph.D., and Ed Anthes in writing WRAP For Veterans and People In the Military, and assisted Jane Winterling in writing Steps To Wellness: A Manual For Building Community Supports. I became a Certified Peer Specialist after being trained by Larry Fricks in Georgia in 2004, and I returned to Ohio to advocate for Ohio adopting certified  peer support as a Medicaid billable service. Later I served as the Senior Project Manager of The Ohio WRAP Study, the randomized trial of WRAP that resulted in WRAP being recognized as an evidence based practice last year by SAMHSA.

Personally, the years of black depression, mania, and alcoholism have given way before vigilant perseverance in self-directed recovery using Dr. Copeland’s WRAP and Dr. Seligman’s Positive Psychology. And, since 2009, with the help of a VA psychiatrist, I am free of enslavement to alcohol, nicotine, and no longer use any psychiatric medicines or any kind of therapy. I have lost 80 pounds in weight, resumed teaching Hakko Ryu Ju Jutsu, taken up yoga, and am in the best physical and mental shape I have been in the last 20 years. Rangers Lead The Way!

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

Acceptance. The acceptance of having the bipolar disorder was not something I knew very well. I had heard about acceptance during the years following my learning that the bipolar disorder doesn’t just go away. Learning that something I was diagnosed with 20 years before never left me and that for 20 years alcohol had become my friend to manage the impacts from it. In my mind I now was “less than.”

Shame, on the other hand, I knew very well. That shame being something that consumed me nearly 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, taking time out only while I slept. Deep within my heart, I believed I was “less than.” I no longer deserved respect for anything I would do from this point on in my life. I had a major character defect.

This belief was reinforced by the confusion and frustration my family felt as a result of mom having a mental illness. The fuel for the fire: a lack of education.

I then stumbled upon a few things that changed my life forever. DBSA and the simultaneous participation in an interactive internet study both focused on the recovery approach to achieving wellness.

Between my participation in face-to-face DBSA meetings, using the DBSA website recovery tools offered, such as Facing Us www.facingus.org, the participation in the study, and learning that recovery is possible, “acceptance” is now better understood. Respect for myself and the goals in my life are reappearing, the hope returning. I can only touch the tip of the iceberg when trying to describe and explain how this feels. How understanding the “acceptance” of having a mental illness has given me my life back.

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

My name is Chris Jasikoff and I am being treated for major depression and social anxiety. My story begins way back in my childhood, when I thought I had to put on a “happy face” instead of expressing how I really felt. I was never really treated for my illness until I moved up to Massachusetts approximately 25 years ago and found an outstanding psychiatrist. Despite now being in Saratoga, NY, a 4-hour distance from where I was living before, my doctor still takes care of me.

My first hospitalization was a nightmare. I remember hitting the walls in the hospital and threatening to beat the windshield of a car—I was mad! After many years of enjoyment, I found work to become much more difficult. Anyway, my voice was taken away many years ago, leaving an empty, unhappy, depressed shell instead of the happy adult that I had pretended to be. On the outside I was happy and I was never able to express my true emotions. Thank goodness for my doctor, who worked diligently with me. Now I can speak openly about most things, but there are times when I sink into that shell and I still have trouble letting people in. I am working every day to fix this. Medication and psychotherapy really made a difference.

I am one of the founders of the Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance (DBSA) of Saratoga County, NY. We run three support groups, two of which are located in Clifton Park and one located in Saratoga Springs. Three years ago, the Clifton Park support group was started after a recent hospital stay. Two friends and I were talking one day at the hospital and we found that there weren’t any support groups for people suffering from a mental health illness. So that night, I searched endlessly on the internet and the only thing that was remotely close to a support group was this organization called DBSA in Chicago, IL. After researching their website, it was very evident to me that I could start a chapter in a city of my own choice. I can remember that I was all excited about running a group, so I told the other lady who was interested about this idea. After speaking with her, we decided to base our support group in Clifton Park since it was mid-point between where our hometowns were located.

Soon after starting the Clifton Park group, I decided to get some additional training as a Certified Peer Specialist. And in February of 2009, I went down to St. Louis, Missouri, for a full week of Peer Specialist training. It was a very draining and yet a very exciting week. My skills as a peer support group facilitator and, later, as a peer counselor at a local hospital, had definitely improved! Not only did we start the Saratoga Springs support group, which was always my initial goal, but we then had an Annual Mental Health Awareness Walk held on March 21, 2011, which proved to be very successful. Through the walk, we promoted advocacy in our area! From the time I became engaged with DBSA, they have managed to keep me alive and well during these past few years! DBSA has definitely played an integral part in all of our support group activities. When help was needed, someone was always there with the answers or the know-how! Hats off to DBSA!

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.

For over twenty years, I have struggled with symptoms of mental illness. When I was only twelve, my father passed away from a brain aneurysm in front of me. I was so devastated by the loss, I felt myself slipping into a place I didn’t quite understand, but at my young age I didn’t know how to share my feelings with someone so they could throw me a life-line. Life continued throughout high school.

Fortunately, I was admitted into the Intensive Educational Development Program at the University of Maryland and graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in Behavioral and Social Sciences in 1990. In 1994, I married, and on December 15, 1995, I gave birth to my number one fan and best friend, my now fifteen year old son, Zachary. I endured postpartum depression for several months, at which time I felt extremely overwhelmed.

My symptoms intensified and I began having thoughts. I was created for a special purpose. I was convinced my home and car were bugged. I believed the government spies were trying to take my son away from me. I spent hours driving on expressways and interstates chasing trucks and buses, reading them for clues and signs about what I was to do next. Colors symbolized both people and things, so every time I glanced at something green, it was telling me to grow-up, purple represented my mother, and yellow, my sister. Every color and every sight I saw meant something to me. My symptoms included severe mood swings, hallucinations, and paranoid delusions. It was both exhilarating and exhausting.

I returned to my home state of Michigan with the hope of benefiting from participation in a mental health research study called STEP, Services for the Treatment of Early Psychosis, at Wayne State University. Participating in this research study offered me hope while I endured the symptoms of Schizophrenia. The staff of the STEP Program worked diligently to create a well-rounded, all-inclusive treatment program for persons experiencing psychotic symptoms. The STEP program offered a three piece program: psycho-education, social skills, and medication management. This opportunity was the single most contributing factor to my recovery. I am a fervent believer that mental health research was what led me to a stable and fulfilling life. Research was key to correct diagnosis and finally finding a treatment program that worked for me.

I have been in recovery since 2005 and am living a fulfilling life. In May 2007, I completed my Masters of Social Justice Program and, as part of my required internship, I developed and implemented an educational support model program through my non-profit organization, Dig My Roots Foundation. Working with Wayne State University Psychiatric Centers, Detroit Central City, and Lincoln Behavioral Services, I have assisted many of my peers in gaining entry into higher educational institutions, trade schools, and GED completion programs throughout the metropolitan Detroit area.

I married a wonderfully understanding man in April 2007 and my son is performing exceptionally well academically and socially. I am currently employed full-time with Gateway Community Health Agency as a Prevention, Education, and Outreach Specialist, and I am also a Doctoral Candidate in Human Services with a specialization in Social Policy Analysis and Planning. Mental health research has had a positive impact on my life and I encourage every peer to seek out research opportunities and get involved.

This story is a part of the Life Unlimited series.
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