Finding Strength.

Beating the Little Voice.

I originally started writing this for a scholarly, monthly e-journal for higher education professionals, but almost let the little voice in my head win: "this isn't good enough to share with your peers". The deadline grew closer and that little voice grew louder and more condescending. Through all the therapy, treatment, and medication, there are still times that the little "you aren't good enough" voice wins. Today, I am fighting back- I am beating the little voice...

I Have a Mental Illness, but I’m Not Crazy

According to the National Alliance on Mental Health, “one in four adults−approximately 61.5 million Americans−experiences mental illness in a given year”. With such a high percentage of our population facing mental illness, it is logical to assume that we will come into contact with individuals- colleagues, students, friends, or family members- who are tackling an unseen disease of the mind. Unfortunately, there is a dark stigma attached to mental illness and those who suffer from it; a stigma that can be broken down into five interrelated components: labeling, stereotyping, separation, status loss, and discrimination (Link & Phelan, 2001).

Labeling

Crazy. Over-emotional. High-strung. Wishy-washy. Needy. Too sensitive. Abnormal. Weird. These are all things I have been called over the last seven years- words that kept me from confiding in others because putting a name to my disorder would solidify the labels that I had so often heard. Because I was so afraid of these labels, I refused to acknowledge that I had a problem, thus avoiding the therapy and treatments that I desperately needed. Labels create an internalized stigma that can stop someone from seeking help. I have depression and anxiety that outwardly appears to be bipolar disorder, but that doesn’t define who I am or dictate my personality.

 Stereotyping

A quick Google image search of the phrase “mentally ill” reveals rows upon rows of thin, disheveled individuals with wild, desperate eyes. It was these pictures that came to mind when I first heard the words “bipolar disorder” escape from the mouth of my psychiatrist. Yet, recently, I was described as someone who “outwardly appears to be the girl next door.  Someone you would hire to babysit your kids or house sit for you while you are on vacation” (Coulter, 2016). This image is a sharp contrast to that of someone you would picture to be mentally ill. The stereotypical “mentally ill” individual is a fallacy; I have an illness, but I do not look sick.

 Separation

Making the decision to share my struggle with mental illness after almost seven years of suffering alone was one of the toughest decisions I have ever made, as the fear of backlash, rejection, and misunderstanding was overwhelming. I was very fortunate that the majority of the feedback that I got after first sharing my story was positive, yet I still received some harsh, hurtful criticism: “you are just doing this for attention” or “does this mean you are going to cry a lot more often?” The concept that mental illness and attention-seeking behaviors are intertwined is ridiculous.  Thoughtless comments like the aforementioned can cause divides within relationships. In a time of need, individuals struggling with a mental illness may find themselves alienated, ostracized, or separated from the people they need the most.

 Status Loss

As long as I can remember, there has been a little voice in the back of my head reminding me that I will never, ever be "good enough", thus feeding into my chronic depression. The most heartbreaking stigma that I have had to endure is that of status loss among the people I love most. My mental illness has always made me feel as if I am in need of repair. A colleague telling me that I shouldn't share my story with others as they may not be comfortable with me, or may not think I was competent at my job, solidified the notion that I was a broken girl who would never be good enough. Fortunately, this colleague was wrong- my mental illness has made me a more compassionate, empathetic advisor. I may be struggling to keep it all together at times, but I am not incompetent.

 Discrimination

The scariest part of publicly sharing my struggle with mental illness was knowing that there would be some discrimination that would follow. Widely publicized incidents like the Sandy Hook shooting and the attack on Charleston's Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church Large have caused fear to rise in the throats of those who hear the words "mentally ill". Large studies conducted in 1996 and 2006 showed that "Americans grew less willing over time to befriend or work with someone with schizophrenia, and more inclined to see people with the disease as violent and dangerous" (Szabo, 2014). Navigating mental illness can be a scary thing, but I promise you, I am not to be feared.

A recent study found that over half of college students are experiencing some form of mental illness (Zivin et al., 2009), thus leading to a reasonable conclusion that, even if you or a colleague is mentally well, you will interact with someone who is not well within the college setting. Mental illness- whether it be fleeting or chronic- needs to be talked about. The more conversations that are had, the less power the stigma attached to mental illness will become; thus, empowering those living with mental health issues to seek help, get better, and persevere.

References

Coulter, J. (2016, May 12). How a Cat and Young Woman Save Lives. Retrieved June 15, 2016, from ConquerWorry.org: http://www.conquerworry.org/blog/5-12-2016

Link, B. & Phelan, J. (2001) Conceptualizing Stigma. Annual Review of Sociology 27(3): 363–85.

National Alliance on Mental Health. (n.d.). Any Mental Illness (AMI) Among Adults. Retrieved June 15, 2016, from National Alliance on Mental Health: http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/statistics/prevalence/any-mental-illness-ami-among-adults.shtml#sthash.UGAqHdQD.dpuf

Szabo, L. (2014, June 25). Cost of Not Caring: Stigma Set in Stone. USA Today , pp. 14-20.

Zivin, K., Eisenberg, D., Gollust, S. E., & Golberstein, E. (2009). Persistence of mental health problems and needs in a college student population. Journal of Affective Disorders , 117, 180-185.

You Matter.

Just in case you ever, ever doubted it- you matter. You are here for a reason. Sometimes, life is going to be hard, so hard that you may want to give up. It is okay to feel weak and to question your journey. Those are the moments that will help you grow stronger. Whatever you do, don't give up. You matter.

This is My Brave.

This Is My Brave, Inc., a 501(c)3 non-profit organization (http://thisismybrave.org) is the leading platform for individuals to share their stories of living successful lives despite a diagnosis of a mental health disorder through artistic expression (spoken word poetry, original music and essay readings) on stage in front of a live audience. We're opening up the conversation about mental health disorders in communities all across the country and beyond via our YouTube channel.

We're shining a light on mental illness because it has been in the dark too long. We're ending mental illness stigma, one story at a time.

"This Is My Brave - the Show" - 2016 Greenville performance

May 5, 2016 The Kroc Center, Greenville SC

Donate to This Is My Brave, Inc. to help us continue to shine a light on mental illness: http://thisismybrave.org/donate/

Beyond Brave.

It has been a little over a week since I told the story of my first suicide attempt at the Greenville show of 'This Is My Brave'. It has taken me all this time to figure out how to put my thoughts into words-the fear of backlash that had me holding my breath for days, the numerous stories shared with me as a result of the show, and the overwhelming support and love I have since received. In the audience at the show were several of my most favorite human beings- my mother, my father, my boyfriend, my boss's boss, and 2 of the amazing faculty I work with. While we rehearsed earlier in the day, I couldn't stop shaking and was so anxious that I actually thought about bolting from the room. I couldn't stop thinking about how risky this was- what if my story changes the way that people think about me? What if my parents are angry at me? What if my coworkers see me as incompetent? What if, like so many times before, the audience sees my story as a ploy for attention?

As the time to take the stage drew closer, I sat in the lobby of the venue, practicing my breathing exercises and repeating the silly manta I use to calm myself- you are the sun, you are the moon, you are the stars. I was surrounded by an odd medley of people- a Jewish rabbi with bipolar disorder, a 17 year old beauty battling anorexia, an anxious mother of 2 in whom I saw my future self. As we stood to go to the stage together, an overwhelming sense of calm came over me- I was ready to share my story and I was going to do it with the support of these amazing individuals around me.

Doing 'This Is My Brave' was one of the most daunting things I had ever done. Yet, from that experience, I feel that I have developed a deeper sense of understanding of my own disorder- it isn't something to be afraid or ashamed of. Instead, it is something to share with others, to use to help people suffering through the same diagnosis. There is so much power and strength in being able to talk about what haunts us- we are all battling demons... why not help each other overcome them?

Your story will save lives.

Since the show, I have been blown away by how many people have reached out to me to share their stories about their struggles with mental illness. 'This Is My Brave' opened the door for others to find their courage, to know that they are not alone, and to reach out for help through friendship. I have been touched by the love and support I have received. Individuals that I barely know all the way to friends that have been with me most my life have reached out to express how proud they are and want to know how they can help. My biggest fear going into the show was that my father would be upset by my story- a story that I kept hidden from him for nearly 7 years. Instead, 'This Is My Brave' allowed us to have our first direct conversation about my disorder, address some previous miscommunications, and grow closer as a family.

Finding the words to describe my experience has been challenging, but I think I may have it: 'This Is My Brave' isn't about finding bravery. Each and every performer on that stage found their bravery the moment they decided to get better, in whatever form that may be for them. 'This Is My Brave' isn't about sharing what makes us brave. For many of us, the stories we told are just a snapshot of what we are dealing with. Our battles will never end, yet we have the courage to continue to face them. 'This Is My Brave' is about challenging normalcy and helping others tackle whatever they may be going through by letting them know they are not alone.

Be brave. Always be brave.

The Blame Game.

Today was a bad day. I knew when I woke up this morning that it was going to be hard to make it through today- that today, depression would win. It took me 3 hours to convince myself to get out of bed and another 2 hours to get ready to go to work. During that time, I processed through all the regular questions once again:

"If I don't go to work today, will I get fired? How bad would getting fired actually be? How long would I be able to live without a job? Does anyone even really need me at work today? What meetings do I need to reschedule? Do I even need to reschedule? Does everyone hate me?"

This internal barrage of questions is the hardest part of navigating my depression. The answers are always the same and always end up reaching the same conclusion- I am worthless, I am a burden, and everyone hates me. This toxic thinking bleeds into every aspect of my life and puts me in a terrible mood, thus making me a horrible person to be around. Today, I was grumpy, mean, and bitter. I complained more. I was short with people.

The easiest solution would be to simply change my thinking, right? This is the advice I have received over and over and over again- "if you just change your attitude, you wouldn't be depressed". It truly isn't that simple. Imagine the story of the little Dutch boy and the dyke that is leaking- there are a million little holes leaking poisoning thoughts into my brain and yet I only have a few fingers to plug these holes. No matter how hard I try- the thoughts do not stop, the attitude cannot be changed, the depression will win.

This story is not to garner sympathy or to play the game of "woe is me". I share this story because (I believe) one of the biggest misconceptions surrounding depression is that the sufferer is to blame for their disease, as one should always have control over what they feel. Depression is no one's fault- trust me, no one would ASK for this disease. It is ugly, it hurts, and it makes some days nearly impossible.

Today was a bad day.

I wish I could end with something positive here, but as I was reminded by a friend who also struggles with depression and anxiety- sometimes the story doesn't have a happy ending and that is okay... because tomorrow will come and it may not be the best or even a better day, but tomorrow will come and that is something to smile about.

How a Cat Saved My Life.

There are two things that anyone who meets me knows to be true: I am lowkey obsessed with my puppy and I am a very proud crazy cat lady. I'll share more about Minnie the puppy later- she has already had her 5 seconds of fame on this blog. Today is about Addy, my cat and the reason I am still here on this earth. The semester of college right after I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder was the worst of my life. I was in a terrible relationship with a real loser. I was on a highly competitive, world-ranked winterguard team which I never, ever felt good enough for. I stupidly decided to take on way too many credits in school. I had just joined my sorority and wasn't prepared for the time/energy/self commitment. I was struggling to figure out my identity as someone saddled with a mental illness. Essentially, I ran myself into the ground and then decided to dig a little bit deeper- just for good measure.

Somehow in the middle of all this, I found some time to adopt a kitten. I grew up around animals and had convinced myself that if I got a kitten, everything would magically get better. My aunt (another crazy cat lady) took me to the local Humane Society to "look around", knowing fully that I couldn't leave without my own ball of fur. So insert Addy- the cutest, spunkiest kitten you'll ever meet.

Unfortunately, getting a kitten didn't solve all of my problems- shocker, I know. I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into depression, which felt impossible to overcome. I felt like my only out would be taking my own life. Living each day was so hard- all I wanted was some peace. Suicide seemed so serene, like I could finally get some rest.

I planned everything out- I cleaned my apartment so no one would have to bother, figured out my method- something simple and painless, and wrote a goodbye to everyone that I loved. However, there was one problem. I had no idea how long it would take for someone to realize that I wasn't answering my phone or showing up to things. I was worried that Addy would have to go too long without someone giving her food or water. I couldn't be responsible for both of our deaths. So I drove the 45 minutes home to drop Addy off at my parent's house. That is when everything changed.

My mom had come home early from work that day and had already started dinner. My plan to drop off Addy and run was no longer feasible- I had to stay and pretend to be the happy, wonderful daughter and sister my family knew. It was all too much and for the first time in my life, I finally broke down and talked to my mom about what I was feeling. I told her I was so unhappy that I considered suicide. The pain in her eyes was more than I ever wanted to see. I knew I had to find my courage and do whatever it took to get better. I couldn't hurt my family by taking my life- my personal pain would never amount to the pain my death would have caused them.

I started seeing a new therapist the next week.

I will often think back to that day- my decision day where I chose life over death- and think about what would have happened if I had never gotten Addy or didn't care about her well-being. Suicide isn't rational- I'm thankful that it isn't. My concern for a kitten saved my life. So when people reproach me for being a crazy cat lady, I couldn't be more proud. For if it wasn't for a sassy cat and an irrational love, I wouldn't be here today.

Considering suicide? There is help. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is always there to listen- 1 (800) 273-8255.