We Don’t Have to Just Tolerate

When I was coming through school I thought everybody felt different. As I grew up I began to learn that many people felt like a part of their peer group. I struggled between these groups- was I a jock or a brain? Where was I going to fit in? The word “potential” became abrasive to my ears. It seemed to be the mantra of my teachers and counselors- and it did not really sound flattering. Like when someone says “bless their heart” but really means “I want to ring their neck!” This tendency of significant people around me to say harsh things with complimentary words taught me to listen carefully and develop my vocabulary. But I still really wanted to fit in. I just had no idea what that would look like and I could only imagine what it felt like. 

Adolescent years were no easier and I finally dropped out of high school twice ending up with an equivalency certificate. I showed plenty of college aptitude and had high test scores but I underperformed everywhere. The places I did excel there seemed to be setbacks beyond my control that exceeded my ability to cope appropriately. I redirected my life in major ways as if I was changing clothes. I began to realize that this behavior was not normal.

On the inside I was spinning at 200 miles per hour. I was constantly frustrated by my tendency to have spells of super-productivity vs non-productivity. I had extreme difficulty managing my verbal output. Stability was an elusive myth for me. I had to structure my activities around compensating for the consequences I experienced because of what I thought was poor behavior management, character defects or worse moral deficiencies. I repeatedly reached for anything on the outside to fix me on the inside. After recreating myself so many times because of my perceived failures or genuine mistakes I became despondent. One more severe emotionally traumatic event around age 27 and my brain changed. A whole set of my coping skills that had previously allowed me to overcome difficulties force of will disappeared. I spent years pushing harder and harder. The emotional strain was unbearable. I took it out on those around that I loved. Eventually in my desperation to cope with my internal emotional pain, I began to trade pieces of my character for less honorable but more expedient ways to feel better temporarily.

It was a slippery slope for me, a person prone to recreating myself, to locate alternative ways of living. At first it was counter culture people who I broke my marriage vows with. Then I began to find that I could find immediate freedom from internal angst by just taking illegal drugs. I had no idea what I was getting into. I did not know anyone personally who had dealt with addiction or experienced any of addiction’s life problems or criminal consequences. I did not understand how my mood swings or erratic behavior were part of a predictable pattern. To me these changes were simply traumatic distortions in the fabric of life. I also had no specific idea I was exacerbating my mental health symptoms each time I took illicit drugs. Of course I knew drug use was destructive–I just did not respect how destructive it was or in what ways. 

A few months after I turned 33 years of age I was struggling mightily. I began to experience legal problems. Then my father died suddenly. He was the glue that held my family together- both my birth family and marriage family. I tried to be strong but I had let the wolves into the my life. I descended rapidly into chaos. Within three months I was in jail for a felony. During that week my wife and small children left me, I was evicted from my home, my friends rejected me, my family did not want to deal with me and even my church sent a pastor to jail who told me not to come back. I was low. The speed and magnitude of the changes in my life wiped away any plans I had. My truck broke down shortly after I was released and I lost it. I remember standing on the side of a highway exit ramp watching my truck being towed and feeling something I never thought I would know- homelessness. 

This brought a whole new dimension to my world of difficulties. I could not even really comprehend my circumstances. I tried but my understanding was only theoretical. Imagine trying to understand what a jalapeno pepper tastes like. I could describe a pepper eating experience all I want but my experience would surely pale compared to the act of eating one. Such was my life on the street and in the world of probation. The realities of addiction, mental illness and homelessness had only begun. I still believed I could pull myself up by my own bootstraps. Of course I was experiencing severe mood swings and I was not yet properly diagnosed nor medicated correctly. I had only begun to learn what an addict was and that I was one. Homelessness seemed like a nuisance rather than the serious issue it was becoming because I was still grandiose in my thinking. I could spend hours recounting my symptoms and my versions of what my real problems were. I mostly hinted in my own clever way that my troubles were not my fault- at least not completely. The word recovery was beginning to mean something special to me, but I did not understand yet. 

I was finally diagnosed closer to my proper condition at age 37. This took me off contraindicated medications and connected me to helpful meds. But adjusting to a life on psychoactive medication required a whole new set of coping skills–again. It is what consumers mean when we say “I don’t like the medication I am prescribed because I am not me!” Translation- “I am unable to cope in my accustomed ways and I don’t like having to make so many changes.” The fact is that these “changes” are occurring in consumers at the thought level, the internal thought processes we use to cope with life. Imagine what it would take to convince you that your life was such a problem so that you would be willing to take a pill altering how you thought? That is the life of every person with a serious mental health condition who relies on medication daily. To increase the drama of these circumstances are our symptoms that impair our ability to function, the knowledge that our disorder will likely progress or change and our lives will be disrupted severely again and the views of society towards people with mental health issues. If a person with a mental health disorder somehow reaches this treatment/recovery plateau then they must face the likely wreckage in their lives that has built up for the many years of misdiagnosis, bad medication management, drug use, homelessness and criminalization. Welcome to the world of NAMI.

I was on the street another eight years after being diagnosed. It took me years after that to deal with other problems. I was unable to hold a steady professional job for over 25 years in spite of many excellent skills. It has only been recently that I am able to work in my field and help other people recover from these same issues. This whole recovery saga began for me in 1995 with my first outpatient treatment. In truth I saw my first counselors in 1969. It is part of my story and some of my resentments are about the huge struggle it took for me to be diagnosed and treated in spite of many good faith efforts throughout my lifetime towards treatment and diagnosis.

Now I say what a gift if even though tears. The knowledge I have gained through these experiences provides me with the drive and compassion to continue forward. I hear the stories of others and offer what I can to help them. I would consider my condition in remission these days except for minor episodes of mood swings. This was hard won. To my fellow consumers who read this I give you encouragement to continue on in your recovery. To any practitioners or providers I suggest that you medicate less for behavior management and work more to provide multifaceted recovery. I cannot recover without medication- the correct type and amount taken at the proper times of day. Similarly I cannot stay on my medication regimen without abstaining from illegal drugs and facing my homelessness. This dance is the trick isn’t it? My solution is to continuously maintain a support network that provides me feedback on my life. Part of this is also that I make opportunities to be of service to people around me. I see life as a program of recovery- not in the dry clinical systematic sense but more in the recipe to live a productive and spiritual life since. 

So folks, that’s my story and I am sticking to it. There are many thousands of details that could be expanded on but this gives the idea. Live hard and give yourself a break. You have to believe in something. We consumers don’t have to just tolerate a life of foggy misery.