Personal Stories

Logically, I can acknowledge the gratitude I have for the people, opportunities and luxuries in my life. My mental health condition, however, is anything but logical.

It’s going to be a long process, but this is me. I’m not ashamed anymore about being on medication and talking to a therapist once a week. It feels amazing and liberating.

Since my soulmate of 33 years, Steve, took his own life in March, 2015, I have observed that there are some common ties that bind suicide survivors. 

I was very young when I experienced my first break from reality. I remember hearing voices and seeing shadows everywhere I went... As a child, I was confused and scared of the hallucinations I was experiencing.

On March 26, 2015, my 19-year-old brother died by suicide. His death seemed to come out of nowhere, and it left my family in an understandable state of shock.

I was diagnosed with bipolar II, major depressive disorder and generalized anxiety disorder at the age of 25. It’s hard for me to grasp that my official diagnosis was only two years ago because so much has transpired and changed since then.

I found a therapist and psychiatrist and was diagnosed with OCD, anxiety and depression. The constant worrying, fears, anxiety attacks, rituals and obsessions finally all made sense.

The next step was finding help. As much as I couldn’t wait to feel better, I was none too pleased with the prospect of discussing my innermost feelings with a stranger.

I was so scared of seeing a doctor because I knew what the outcome would be. I didn’t want to put a label on myself and have it define the rest of my life.

I started experiencing some panic and anxiety. Then I couldn’t sleep, and then never could get out of my bed, or shower, or leave my room, or answer my friends, or even go to work. I had dark thoughts.