Read Me. Do Not Be Me.

With great strength from within, I am not writing this for sympathy or for the “I’m sorry’s.” I am writing this for awareness. We’ve all known someone struggling with anxiety, depression, OCD, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia or PTSD. We may know the person as our self or a friend, a loved one, a brother, a sister, mother, father, or to a further extent, a celebrity. We carry this stigma around about mental illness and only “deal” with it when it slaps you in the face. We need to realize it exists every day and not when the proverbial “shit” hits the so-called fan.

I felt as if I didn’t have anyone to lean upon when it came down to it. The two days leading up to admitting myself, I lived in absolute fear and shame. I wasn’t me anymore. I could barely trust my husband and parents to do the right thing by me. So on my own volition, I surrendered myself to believe in faith. Faith, that I would be walking back through the doors of my house to greet my children and family once more. Faith that I would never feel that empty and desolate again. Faith that I would persevere. Faith, that I would be able to handle what I was about to encounter next when I sought treatment. There are people out there that don’t have the beautiful support system I have in my life. There are people out there, that I met, who can’t work on their mental illness because they don’t have food, clothing and shelter. The fundamentals need to be met first before self-awareness can occur. I was bearing witness to things I didn’t even know existed. And I am honored that I was able to meet some of the people I came across because it gave me perspective and strength and the ability to tell my story.

I am a writer. I write. I always have. For some time, I haven’t been able to write. I was trapped. And it was hard. When I was younger, I wrote out of fear, worry, and sadness. Today, I can write from a place of happiness and love. I recently, went through something that has finally given me my voice back. We all see the beautiful pictures that all of us post of our children, pregnancy, birth, and family. The joyous comments of “Welcome to Motherhood.” We hold some comradery with each other as women because we are so “blessed” to have our families. We pat each other on the back and think we live in this beautiful little FB world. But, that’s just it- it’s all a bunch of pictures with pretty little bows placed neatly on top – no real human interaction. Just an abyss. We get lost. All of us have been there.

After having my second child, Henry, a few weeks ago, I experienced something horrible. I had postpartum depression and just about didn’t make it. That is the truth. And it is real. This stuff really, truly exists and it happens to people we know- our neighbors, our friends. You go weeks and never pick up the phone to say, “hi.” The next time you call, – what if they aren’t there? It does happen. 

Luckily, I knew something was wrong with myself, barely. Just barely. My husband, my mother and my father picked up that figurative phone for me and saved my life. I went into the hospital for 5 days. Five days of intensive group therapy and sleep. It was good. I found me again and something else, pure happiness from within. I’m home now and doing fairly well with a lot of perseverance and determination. I have 2 very close girlfriends in my life that care deeply about me. One knew the day I was going in and the other knew the day I was released. They have stood by me throughout all of this and I am very grateful to you and always will be. So all in all, there are 5 people in my life who actually stayed mindful and present in this tumultuous journey.

Sitting here today, however, I have realized what it is truly like to have joy in your life and the beauty of all things small. It has given me my voice back and has made me a strong woman, wife, mother, and friend. I now have the ability to write from a place of happiness and trust me, I’m going to hang on to every damn miracle this life gives me. I am one of the lucky ones. Some are not. Some aren’t able to be here today because they fell into the abyss and never came back. I can’t speak for those tired souls, but I can surely tell you it is not a beautiful place to be. It is dark and no matter what is happening on the outside, it doesn’t matter at that point. That is the reality of despair. It has nothing to do with anybody else except for the person feeling the utter loneliness, shame, guilt, and sadness. It has everything to do with themselves. So if that’s selfish, then we are all screwed.

So I write today to say, stop the stigma. Mental illness is real. Stop the pettiness and care about the ones you love and let it be known. Be mindful, be present, and participate. It’s all way too short to throw away. So if you think someone needs help, get it for them, talk to them, and be present in their life. Yes, therapy only works when you want it, but preventing suicide works by being mindful. Mindful with yourself and with other people’s feelings. Make time.