Living with Mental Illness

TW: this post contains mentions of suicide

Certain parts of this post were extremely difficult for me write. This is an issue that has plagued me, and many like me, for years.

This week is Suicide Awareness Week. Thousands of people commit suicide each year. Often, the individual is afraid of getting help. They don’t realize that help is right at their fingertips.

If you or anyone you know are currently struggling with suicidal thoughts, I beg you to use your resources. See you doctor, get help. The Suicide Prevention Hotline is 1-800-273-TALK. Never be ashamed of needing help.

Thousands of people in America are affected by mental illness, yet there are still so many stigmas surrounding it that cause people to feel lesser of themselves for something that they cannot control. I have many friends that struggle with some form of mental illness. I have family members struggling with it. So many people are struggling, and yet they still feel alone.

While most people already know this as I am very open about my life, I have been struggling with mental illness for seven years now. It began when I hit puberty, so I didn’t think much of it. I just assumed that I was hormonal, as did my whole family. Never did I imagine that those symptoms I had been experiencing would be the beginning of a long battle that would take place for the rest of my life.

I began self-harming when I was 13. It started out small, but eventually turned into an addiction that I would never wish upon anyone. I shut out my entire family. I already had very few friends at that time, but I pushed away the few that I actually had. People began noticing that something wasn’t right, but nothing seemed serious enough that they took action. Through the years, I just got worse. I was still self-harming, I stopped eating, I continued to shut people out. I attempted to distract myself through school as I was beginning my freshman year of high school, although it didn’t work as well as I thought it would.

I would go days at a time without showering because I didn’t have the will to get out of bed. I would wear my pajamas to school almost daily because I just didn’t care anymore. I remember feeling helpless. I finally was accepted into my first “real” group of friends. I thought I was a bad person for still feeling the way that I did because I finally had what I wanted... or at least what I thought I wanted.

I went on feeling extremely selfish because I thought I was ungrateful for not appreciating the things that I was given. I had an amazing family, I finally had real friends, I was getting decent grades in school. Despite those factors, I couldn’t get better. However, that fall of my freshman year, I made a friend that would change my life forever.

He began staying up with me when I needed help. He’d see when I was upset when no one else could and would immediately pull me into a hug because he knew that contact comfort was the best thing for me when I was like that. He kept my mom’s number saved in his phone so he could call her if I got bad enough. Still, I wasn’t getting better. I had an amazing person by my side, but that didn’t stop the thoughts going through my head. He helped talk me through them, but he couldn’t stop them.

I still thought I was worthless. I still thought I was better off dead. Eventually, I finally believed myself enough to take action. I wrote many suicide letters through the previous year, but I never thought of actually using them. That was up until the beginning of my sophomore year. I remember sitting awake on my bed in the middle of the night, tears streaming down my face. I had my final note lying in front of me, and the bottle of bleach from my kitchen next to it. I also had my blade. For some reason, I felt more secure with it by my side.

I texted my aforementioned friend that evening. I apologized over and over for countless things. I apologized for not being good enough, for hurting him time and time again, for being stupid and making the wrong decision. I knew that is was wrong, but I still had plans to do it. I didn’t tell him that I was going to do it that night, just that I was going to soon. He was awake, thankfully, and called to talk to me. He told me over and over again that I was strong. That I was an amazing person, and that no matter what I was feeling at that moment, I could get through it. I cried the entire night, but I made the entire night. I put away the bleach and hid the blade and the letter. I’m not sure why I saved them, but I did.

Shortly after that night, my friend told me that I needed to tell my mom what was going on. I needed to tell her about my self-harm and about my suicidal thoughts and if I didn’t, he would. I told her that evening, texting my friend the entire way through. I had already been to a doctor before. I was already diagnosed with severe depression, but I refused to continue taking my medication. My family forced me to get help again, which I resisted at first. I didn’t want help. I didn’t think I needed it.

That was three years ago. October 24, 2013 was the last time I ever touched my blade again. I threw it and that old suicide letter away and told myself that I would never go back to that horrible habit.

In the four years since my first trip to the doctor, I have had three separate diagnoses. I began with depression, then anxiety got added on. I went on for years believing that that was all I had, and I just wasn’t getting better. My third—and hopefully final—diagnosis didn’t take place until this past May. After months of “getting bad again,” as I called it, I finally scheduled an appointment with my doctor that April. We did many tests, and eventually I was referred to a psychiatrist.

That May, I was diagnosed with an illness called Cyclothymic disorder. Unless you know me personally and have heard me talk about it, I doubt that you know what it is. My own pharmacist didn’t even know that it was a real illness. Cyclothymia is an extremely rare form of bipolar disorder, affecting only .4%-1% of people in the United States. Basically, an individual diagnosed with cyclothymia has drastic mood swings, quickly changing between manic and depressive episodes. Sometimes they experience both at once, sometimes they experience a depressive episode for long periods of time.

In my experience so far, I usually will have an extreme depressive episode, followed immediately by a manic episode. After I finally come down from the manic, I will either go back to normal, or fall back into a depressive episode. It’s usually the latter.

Everybody experiences different symptoms while having a manic episode. For me, I get extremely ambitious. I make lists of goals that I could never possibly achieve. I often want to go out and spend any money I have, although I’ve learned to control that better. I will be in a good mood and extremely hyperactive, then quickly switch over to being overly aggressive. Sometimes I’m only hyperactive, other times I’m only aggressive. There’s not really a way of knowing which one I will be. I am very easily irritated and lash out more quickly, and my sex drive rises dramatically. I have intrusive thoughts as well. I won’t go into detail about those, but they’re not good. They scare me more than anything else I have experienced.

Luckily for me, I have a wonderful support system. Every single person close to me took the time to learn my triggers and my symptoms so they could keep track of my episodes and inform me when I was having one. Sometimes I can’t tell, so they do for me.

I am not listing these symptoms to make you feel bad for me. I am listing these symptoms to show that every day is a struggle, no matter how happy I may seem.

Mental illness is real. It is not something to be afraid of, nor ashamed of. Living with mental illness does not make you a worse person. It does not make you invalid. It does not do anything but make you a stronger human being.

Living with mental illness has been awful at times, but if I’m being honest, I am thankful I had to go through these hardships. They’ve shaped and molded me into the well informed, accepting, gracious person that I am today.

This week is suicide awareness week, and I am extremely aware of it. I hope that you are as well. Not only during this week, but for the rest of your life. Learn the signs, keep an eye out for those you care about. Even those who you would never expect may be struggling.

Please, help make a difference so those of us living with mental illness won’t feel so alone.

Until next time,

Katie