I Am Me

Who am I? I am a wife, mother, sister, friend, Marine and a proud American. I am loving, kind, compassionate, impulsive, stubborn and often difficult. None of those labels define me. I have bipolar disorder, PTSD along with borderline personality disorder and I have a tendency to self-harm. Those do not define me either. I am who I am. I am me. Mental illness is like any other illness in the fact that it affects your way of life. It may not present itself with physical symptoms but that makes it no less real. My story may not start like most. Many may find themselves feeling uneasy or unwilling to continue reading. And yet I ask you to try. Try to make it through to the very end. Hopefully you will learn a little more about mental illness and maybe a little more about me. I’m tired of the stigma often associated with mental illness. In order to properly help those in need we need to rid the world of these obvious stigmas. Some are born with a form of mental illness. Others attain it through life’s experiences. I am not sure I fall into one category over the other. And so begins my journey with mental illness.

As a little girl I grew up loving Barbie dolls, roller skates and my dog Lacey. We lived in a normal middle class neighborhood. We knew most of our neighbors and considered those next to us as family. Maybe that is why what happened became overlooked and went unnoticed until now. As I mentioned above some might find what I am about to say unnerving but please continue on. As a little girl, with long brown pigtails, meticulously braided by my mother and with big brown eyes my neighbor first molested me. This teenage boy took my innocence at approximately five years old. It wasn’t just him though. I had an older male cousin that abused me as well. Both continued to steal a little piece of me for years. Like I said, no one knew and I was too scared to tell. Still I consider my childhood a happy one. One full of love, excitement, wonder and joy. I began going to Catholic school as a Kindergartener. I stayed at the same school for nine years. I am still friends with many of my fellow classmates. They were like family to me.

In 1992 I began high school. My parents divorced and luckily my father is a huge part of my children’s lives and mine today. Grades were average. Not terrible but far from great. I wouldn’t exactly say I enjoyed my first year of high school. The summer of my sophomore year I went on vacation with my mother, her sister and my cousin. Julie was my best friend. That summer vacation was the worst of my life and yet I consider myself lucky to have had Julie with me to go through it. While on vacation my mother became very ill. Still with days left of our North Carolina beach vacation we headed back to Pennsylvania. Within days of our return we got the news that would shake me to the core, change my life entirely and haunt me still today. My mother had lung cancer. Chemotherapy and radiation did nothing to heal her. Approximately six weeks later, at 15 years old, I sat in her bed cradling her frail body while she took her last breath. I can still remember how soft her skin was and how she used to smell. With my mother gone I had to move in with my brother. He became my legal guardian. A few weeks later I returned to school. I had a project due. Ironically the project was about who is the biggest influence in your life. Many weeks prior I decided to write about my mother. Thus making the project all that more important to me. It was no longer about getting a good grade but rather trying to heal my shattered heart.

Many months went by. My friends and I would hang out at the beaches on the peninsula, go to restaurants, fish and just be teens. There came a point in my teenage years where I started to experiment with drugs and alcohol. I was often more concerned with figuring out how I was going to do them rather than if I was going to get caught. One night a friend and I were out and we met these two guys. Many hours later I found myself raped, ashamed, broken and crying, not knowing where to turn. I was full of shame and guilt. Unsure if I had brought it on myself. Full of fear, I told no one. It was then that I decided to pull myself together and bring my grades up. For the next few years I did just that. It was in high school that I first started experimenting with self-harm. I would burn myself with cigarettes. I would punch things. I even slammed my hand in the car door a few times. It wasn’t until later that I began cutting.

On my 18th birthday I enlisted into my beloved United States Marine Corps. One of the best decisions I had ever made. It was there that I gained confidence, honor and learned about commitment. It was also there that my mental illnesses started to rear their ugly heads. While in boot camp I lost my beloved grandmother. I was in the most challenging of situations while facing the deepest of grief and yet unable to attend the funeral.

Parris Island was where I first laid eyes on my husband. It wasn’t until later that I knew I simply had to spend the rest of my life with him. He is my rock; my best friend. The next 16 years have been a whirlwind. It wasn’t until we were quite a few years into our marriage that I started to share some of my feelings. What goes on in my head. My triggers. By triggers I mean situations, words, things that may set off mood swings or anxiety. For example some of my triggers are crowds, close spaces, traffic, my front door being left unlocked and the certain behaviors of others. In doing so they were able to see in advance if I needed help often before I even knew it myself. It wasn’t or rather it isn’t easy. But without him I can honestly say I wouldn’t be here. I have had four beautiful children after suffering many heartbreaking miscarriages. My children are what I live for.

I told you all those things above to possibly guide you into understanding where my mental illness may have manifested. I have been in the behavioral health unit many times for suicidal ideations. I have probably been on every SSRI, mood stabilizer and antianxiety medication on the market. Let’s not forget the infamous antipsychotics. That doesn’t include supplements tried or sleeping medications. My battle with mental illness is far away from being over. I was last in the hospital two weeks ago. I chose to live. I chose to fight. Not just for my family and friends but for me. I chose to fight for me. The past few weeks have been the toughest battle of my life. I have been very depressed and yet then gone into full-blown mania the next day. I fight the suicidal thoughts that creep into my mind daily. But I can do this. I have to. My story doesn’t end here.

My hope is that by sharing my story it will help others to find the strength to share their story. To let you know that your mental illness does not define you. By sharing with others you can help educate them on your triggers so maybe, if needed, they can save your life. Most importantly, you are not alone.

So who am I you ask? I am strength, courage and hope. I am me.

If you or someone you know is in crisis please seek help. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 1-800-273-8255. Or simply call 911. Don’t wait until it is too late. 22 veterans alone commit suicide a day, a staggering statistic.