Times and dates are approximate. Just so you know, it’s extremely rare for me to talk about my mental illness with people. Only a few good friends know, literally. Even though they know, it’s not talked about it. I’m always trying to analyze why I don’t talk about it. Maybe it’s my upbringing, and/or the fact I do not want people to change their opinion of me. I know mental illness is so out in the open now, but I still feel people would feel different towards me. They may have pity for me… and I absolutely do not want that. Maybe I refuse to let my illness define who I am. So I choose not to say anything.
I was barely in my twenties, 2nd Year of college. There was definitely something wrong with me. I actually thought I was psychotic. I was raging with indescribable anger and sadness. I was having horrible thoughts that I knew if I didn’t get help, something bad was going to happen. When I think back now, I’m positive I had bipolar disorder when I was a teenager that went undiagnosed, and my behaviour was chalked up to being a “rotten teenager”. During treatment, a memory surfaced of the times I used to cut my face with broken mirrors. Depending on who I talked to, I either blamed a cat that I didn’t have, or my mother.
Anyway, back to the story, Luckily, I had a good doctor, (I have to say I grew up in Hamilton) who referred me to a psychiatrist. I was diagnosed with depression. I think I recall the words major depressive disorder. For the next 5 or so years, I was on and off medication. A few times when I was feeling good, I thought I could go without meds. Each time, when the depression resurfaced, it seemed worse than the last time. I would engage in self-destructive behaviour. Cutting myself with knives or Exacto knives was one of the most rememberable. One time, I had to take myself to the walk in> clinic to get stitches. After this episode, I stayed on Zoloft for more than 15 years. I lead a “normal” happy life, of course with its ups and downs, but for the most part, it was good. I have the best husband anyone could ask for, and I’m privileged to have such an awesome 13-year-old daughter.
While I was pregnant with my daughter, my doctors suggested I stay on my meds as they were worried of what would happen I went off. I took their advice, as well, I contacted Mother Risk and they said there was no evidence of any negative side effects of taking Zoloft while pregnant. (I think there has been recent controversy with Mother Risk and they are no more?) I had a great pregnancy. The downfall was my daughter was born with the shakes you get while going through withdrawal. It was so humiliating when the medical staff kept asking if I was smoking tobacco or drugs or drinking alcohol when I was pregnant.
Again, after this, life was what I thought was pretty good. I still had, as I like to call it, struggles with my brain. With medication this was easier to cope with. Around 4 years ago, my medication was not working anymore. I recently learned a new saying, it Crapped Out. I started feeling the way I did when I was first diagnosed way back. I recognized the symptoms and took myself to the doctor. We did some trial and error with meds to no avail. Things got so bad I had to take a leave of absence from work. (I’m a professional working for the school board). My doctor referred me again to the psychiatric hospital, and I was seen by the psychiatrist I had 20 something years ago. It took almost 2 years of trial and error with meds, psychotherapy, a new diagnosis of bipolar, and consultation with the head of psychiatry to get my illness under control. I was a tough case. I’m currently taking 3 different meds. It used to be 5, but I cut out 2 of them. Not because I’m anti-medication obviously, but because these 2 meds are no longer needed to be in my daily cocktail. They are options if/when I need them.
I was forced by my insurance company after a year and a half, despite the doctors’ recommendation that I wasn’t ready, to go back to work. I did. I had no choice. It was hard, but somehow I managed. Currently, at age 46, I continue to live a happy life with my family, friends, and work, but it is still almost a daily struggle with my brain. There’s a lot of things I wish that were different, things I wish I don’t have to deal with, but I have to. (I have so many stories) I have this illness I need to manage. When friends come out to me that they have an illness, I offer support, and say I truly understand, yet I don’t go into the fact that I have an illness. I feel it’s not my place to overshadow their coming out to me with my stories of living with an illness.
Why am I “coming out” now, in a public forum? I’m not sure. Maybe it’s to help others learn they can live with a mental illness despite the trials and tribulations they go though. That with perseverance and help it can be managed.
Thanks for reading my story.
Susanne
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