by Band Back Together | Apr 27, 2016 | Bipolar Disorder, Child Sexual Abuse, Depression, How To Help A Loved One Who Self-Injures, Loneliness, Self Injury, Single Parenting, Therapy |
Mental Illnesses are prevalent in our world. They greatly affect not only the individual involved, but the people around them. In the month of April, we focus our spotlight on Mental Health, in order to heal together and break down stigmas.
We want your stories. How has your own, or someone else’s mental illness affected your life? How are you rising above stigmas?
Please share your stories with us during the month of April.
Today, well …really yesterday, I can’t sleep …my coworker stopped me to ask what was the matter. I suppose that it’s been pretty obvious for a long, long time that I haven’t been too happy.
So I laid it out for him.
“I don’t know how long I can keep doing this.” said I.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Well, just dragging myself through each day. You don’t understand if you haven’t felt it. There is literally nothing worse. It’s like thought-cancer. Every last good thing that you have done counts for nothing. Nothing is good. You don’t hope for anything because nothing works out, in the end. That’s the way it is when you’re a loser.”
“Hey, I think you’re pretty great. You’re a great employee. Nobody worries if you’re in charge of a project. They know it’ll be done. I can’t claim any understanding of what you’re feeling, but I do understand loneliness and doing the single dad thing. It’s really hard, but you’ll get through it.” he said. “Have you thought about getting any help?”
“Yeah, I’ve done therapy. I have to dredge up all these shit memories, some of which I had all but forgotten. It’s not easy or fun. The drive gets me too. When you’re feeling this way, two hours of driving becomes a HUGE obstacle.”
“Well, do you mind if I help find you someone to see? I wear lots of hats and it really isn’t any trouble. We care about you, and it really tears me up personally to see you this way. I mean man, when you’re up, you’re up and going, smiling and happy, whistling tunes and singing.”
“Well, those times are becoming fewer and further between. Thank you. Yes you can look.”
We had our Christmas party tonight and it really was all I could do to get out the door. My kids and me. The only single person there. It wasn’t easy. The kids got some small presents, and we feasted on prime rib roast and ham, salad, and green beans with garlic and bacon, funeral potatoes, and cheesecake for dessert. I ended up smoking at least a dozen cigarettes in between playing cars and dollies with all the kids. I really do love playing with kids. They’re so much cooler than adults. Plus, they don’t mind when you’re a bit of a nerd. They think it’s funny. They’re not all caught up in being an “adult.”
Anyway, it was a fun night. At least as fun as being a depressed mess can be.
It struck me that my coworker noticed something that has only been slowly dawning on me the past few months. I may very well suffer from some kind of Bipolar Disorder. I noticed in this last year that I have periods of not exactly mania, but something akin to it, that precede my depressions. And indeed, thinking back, there were times that I was the one dragging a reluctant wife around to friends’ houses, staying up too late and drinking too much, laughing too loudly, smoking way too many cigarettes. Looking back, it’s like watching a slow sine wave …up and down, and up and down. But the peaks are flattening out, while the valleys are falling lower and lower, like some macabre emotional EKG readout, about to flatline.
In any case, this December is my crossroads. I really think that it’s my last chance, and that I WILL be a fool if I don’t follow through and take whatever help my company can give. Once again, I am struck at how selfless these people can be. I have often thought that my job was the single best thing that I have going for me, aside from the children. I am blessed that they care. I explained to my coworker that even getting out of bed is a HUGE accomplishment for me some days. What I didn’t mention was that most of the days that I don’t show up to work, I’m laying in bed wondering why I’m even breathing. Last month, I spent two working days and nearly all weekend in bed, leaving only to buy cigarettes. Another thing I didn’t say was that I am completely sure that I could CONQUER THE KNOWN UNIVERSE if I could get better. Another serving of hyperbole anyone?
But its true. I have managed this much in my fight against depression. I have a tiny nucleus of potential, waiting like the silence before the Big Bang, hidden away from the shadows. Indeed, somehow I have managed to keep this strange little grain alive through it all, shedding its light silently like the crystals from Final Fantasy. Maybe that’s what they call my god-spark, my soul or whatever. My true self. It’s a dim light, and a cold one, but at least I’ve managed that much.
I have been very reluctant to try medication. I must admit that I self medicate with marijuana. But….cannabis IS NOT A PANACEA! I have argued this point with people more than once. You can be depressed, get stoned, and yep, be stoned AND depressed. It does make things bearable in that I am freed for a while from the cyclical thoughts of self loathing. But it’s not a treatment. An old hippy once told me that pot should be the spice on an otherwise good life and that kids now wanted to feel stoned to improve their lives and end up being slaves to pot. It’s true. I’ve known people who will go without food in the cupboard in order to get weed. Food is the very first thing I buy, after paying my bills …after all, what will one eat when one has the munchies? Which, since I have a really bad habit of eating little to nothing for days at a time when depressed, is another benefit. It’s sad that so many who advocate for marijuana don’t just say that it’s like a glass of wine for people, and the governments should get over it. They push like it’s some kind of miracle thing, but its just a damned plant with psychoactive substances. Yes it has been shown to have medical uses, but I really don’t think that depression should be one of them.
I have been reluctant to try medication since my stint on a previous bipolar medication. Sure, I didn’t feel depressed any more. But it was a hollow sort of feeling, and I didn’t like it. I couldn’t get happy or sad. It was weird. Maybe it was working like some kind of chemical lobotomy. I’m becoming more and more convinced that there is something wrong in my brain chemistry. I don’t know if things went wrong because of the sexual abuse I suffered, or because of a genetic thing, or both, but I think that some kind of medicine is what I need. I will have to give up pot, to be sure, but I am not espoused to Mary Jane, and I don’t think that I’ll miss her to much.
I also have to get over my anxiety that the medicines will make me feel more suicidal. I began self-harming in 2014. I hit myself hard in the face and head. I already have a kind of cavalier view of pain. Physical pain is easy to bear, for me at least. This means that I could be one of those who just snap because of their medications and finish themselves off impulsively. I don’t want to die, no matter my suicidal thoughts. Not really. But it’s frightening when you can suddenly become your own worst enemy. No one has ever hit me as hard as I have hit myself. But the scariest part of it is that, for a while, I feel better. Yes. I hurt myself and feel better. Fucking A.
So December is my crossroads, and I hope I take a better path. Dare I hope that I’m going to get better? Tentatively, perhaps.
by Band Back Together | Apr 11, 2016 | Loneliness, Self Loathing, Self-Esteem, Teen Self-Loathing |
Hello,
I am an 18 year old girl with no passions whatsoever. You can now already see how bland I am. No one would probably read what I have to say here, but I’ve been living with this for far too long. I can’t let it out to anyone. #1 Fault in me: I push people away once they get too close. It’s a lonely life I have here. It’s not like I can change. It’s funny how a bunch of strangers can read my deepest thoughts, but not my friends.
I basically hate every living inch of myself. Breakdowns are a norm. Being in boarding school doesn’t help much. I’m stuck in these four walls. Having nothing but these four walls staring down at me just rips me apart.
I will be writing this in sequels, so yeah..
by Band Back Together | Mar 23, 2016 | Abandonment, Anger, Loneliness, Parent Loss, Therapy |
This is my first post for Band Back Together. It’s been really interesting reading all of your stories. I feel the sense of community in these posts.
I was separated from my mother at the very early age of around three or four.
Recently, I have noticed it is affecting my relationships with a lot of people in my life, including my fiance. I’ve noticed when I am away from her, I rage and become angry. I always seem to look for connections with other people, so I am not alone. I try to either keep myself busy, or I surround myself with other people so that I don’t have to be alone.
I am currently seeking therapy for my abandonment issues.
I would really appreciate some feedback from other people who deal with similar issues.
by Band Back Together | Mar 18, 2016 | Asperger's Syndrome, Autism, Loneliness, Social Isolation |
I work in therapy and I can’t even spell Asperger’s. I had to google that in fact because I spell it so poorly spell check can’t even help it. Jenny McCarthy would be so pissed. But now that we are on just the “spectrum” crap, Blair is just flat out considered mildly autistic. I personally think they dumped Asperger’s because it’s so hard to spell. But enough about that.
I have a beautiful, loving, I can’t say enough great things about him 4 year old named Blair.
Truth is, I’ve always thought Blair was different. Well, not always. I guess around 18 months is when I started my “something is different” speech. Truth is, my speech was sometimes a rage because I couldn’t believe no one saw what I was seeing. There were meltdowns. Oh the Blair melt downs. And then the Blair moods, as I called them. You could tell what kind of day it was going to be within 5 minutes of him waking up. Of course now I go back and look at videos of him as a like 8 month old and can see differences between him and Jules, for example. Not just simple differences because they are different kids. But different because Blair is…different. Blair didn’t engage with you. Blair looked at you. He looked content, but wasn’t happy all the time. He didn’t copy you. He was quiet, he was…there.
Blair’s moods and outburst over the most asinine things have caused conflict between everyone involved in his care. My dad has become so frustrated he started blaming us having dogs for Blair’s stress. My mom flat out once said she was scared that we were “losing him mentally.”
I, of course, have cried more than anyone thought possible. I’ve yelled at Adam countless times for his “oh, he’s just shy” bullshit when Blair would walk away from kids trying to play at the park or when he’d blow me off about how awful taking him to preschool was because he’d scream and growl and hold onto things to avoid other kids or leaving his regular schedule.
I thought once there was a diagnosis I’d feel relief, but that’s not true.
I answer shopped; at least that’s what it felt like. I’ve found the good news locally is that no one wants to label a child autistic. The bad news is that no one wants to label a child autistic.
by Band Back Together | Oct 12, 2015 | Anger, Anxiety, Coping With Depression, Guilt, Jealousy, Loneliness, Major Depressive Disorder, Mental Illness Stigma, Mood Disorder, Shame |
It’s that deep, dark place I visit after spending days or weeks traveling into. The place where I’ve found myself dejected, sad, rejected, angry, jealous.
Angry at the world for not giving me what others have received.
Tears falling as I realize I’m in the place where I don’t deserve to be. I have no reason for being here. Nothing concrete has put me here.
Only in my mind have I traveled here.
The dark hallows of my mind have brought me to this place where I don’t belong.
Even in my depths, I’m outcasted.
Other people belong here. Other people who have suffered, who have been brought here not by their own mind, but by outside forces beyond their control.
Death. Disease. Sickness. Suffering.
Those people, affected by depressing situations, belong here if they happen to arrive.
Not me.
I have no reason for being here.
Yet here I am.
Sad. Jealous. Angry. Crying.
As with everything, and with every time, it will pass.
And it will not look to be this bad from the other side.
by Band Back Together | Oct 8, 2015 | Abuse, Bullying, Fear, Loneliness, Self Loathing |
First, let me share some things I’ve learned from several sources.
According to some sources, as children, our brains are extraordinary at forming new connections. We are more able to learn any number of skills as children than as adults. We retain a certain amount of neuroplasticity into adulthood, but most of our neural circuitry becomes fixed.
According to some sources, in childhood we are mirrors. That is, especially in childhood, we are prone to taking what others give us in regard to our self-image. This may explain why some of us grow up with decent self-esteem levels and others have little to none. Certainly, we still are mirrors as adults, but we don’t usually morph ourselves to conform to what others say or do as often.
Bullied kids tend to take on the names that their bullies give them.
Children who encounter abuse of any kind tend to shape themselves according to that abuse. We become the”‘ugly” or the “stupid” or the unwanted” that we’re told we are. We become desperate ones, seeking the approval or protection we never got as kids.
So, I must ask the question if it is truly possible to recover from childhood trauma and abuse?
How do we replace the experiences we were deprived of as children when we become adults? It’s not possible to delete our bad memories like some corrupted file and replace it with an error-free one. This is something our machines have the advantage in; when their parts and pieces break or fail, they are easy to replace. The myriad experiences that make up an individual personality are unique and irreplaceable.
But how many people wish that certain things would have been different?
In my own life, I wish that my childhood was different. That certain things never happened. I have no idea this would differ among us. What would that man be like? Would things have been the same yet better?
I can’t have an affectionate father. I can’t have a healthy mother.
I live in another town, away from the abuse. I can’t have it any other way than it is now. It is what it is.
How do I heal this gaping hole in my heart where self-confidence is supposed to be, when the experiences are long gone?
Self-care goes a long way.
Flipping all the negative over and telling yourself good things can go a long way.
But there are times that all of it seems so hollow. That little boy can’t be protected. The damage was done long ago. The boy is now a man, all the wounds are scarred over. Permanently.
When I imagine the future, it’s one in which I’m alone, friendless, without comfort. I feel like a dumbass when I daydream a better future. Companions and friends who actually visit. Maybe even a significant other.
I KNOW it’s because I had shitty experiences growing up. People who have had a healthy childhood EXPECT more of the same from the future. They have no problem imagining nice futures.
After all, their inner children feel happy and safe. They aren’t disbelieving when someone misses them or expresses their admiration. They probably think “Yeah, I am pretty great!” I don’t believe compliments. I attribute them as ignorance or politeness. I’ve made a conscious effort to be gracious when I receive a compliment lately, but my initial reaction, is always, at the core, negative.
So, since these experiences are fixed, can we ameliorate the past by adding new experiences? I don’t know.
At the end of even a great day, I still feel ready for the other shoe to drop. The few fun dates I’ve had as a single man don’t engender any hopeful attitude for me. I just give up on these relationships, believing I’m just getting to the inevitable conclusion. These past few years have been hard.
I’m alone half the time. I don’t have a ‘circle.’ The friends I had are no more. They have lives. I don’t have anywhere to fit in. Everywhere I go, I feel like an interloper. Permanently sidelined. Wallflower. I want to move, yet I cannot imagine what would be different. After all, no matter where you go, there YOU are.
Sometimes I fantasize about a new life. Friends who visit and invite me to things, self-confidence, a real relationship with someone who is my best friend AND lover. I want so desperately to have this new life, where I’m not ashamed of myself in public. Where I make eye contact with people and put my best foot forward. Where I’m not embarrassed by ME. In this new life, I’m not scared of rejection. After all, in this fantasy, I actually love myself, so rejection doesn’t affect me as much as in real life. In this fantasy, I live in a place where I have lots of friends who share my interests. We go out and play music on weekends. We talk about the books we’re reading and the ideas we’re thinking of. We have FUN.
Then I wake up. Yep. Still the same life. No friends. Little fun.
I give people great advice that I cannot follow. I’m quite sure that everyone except me has a great future ahead of them. I try to get them to see if they don’t like their situation, they can change it. I tell them that there isn’t anything they cannot have if they are willing to work toward it. Why in the hell can’t I believe that for myself?! It’s that little boy, cringing away from a world that didn’t accept him for who he was. The world that took his innocence and left only self-loathing behind. The little boy who escapes into books to hide his big, goofy teeth and glasses. The little boy who was told by his peers how geeky, nerdy and weird he was till the little boy wouldn’t even make eye contact with them any more. The young man who played hundreds (probably thousands) of hours of video games to escape from a world that seemed to have no place for him. The little boy who would become the man that now wishes everything were different.
I’m so careful with my children’s self-image. I don’t allow name-calling, even in jest. I don’t allow angry harsh tones of voice. I don’t allow them to call themselves names. I make sure that they treat others with respect. I play with them and make sure they get to do the things they want to do. I suppose, in the end, they deserve to have what I could not. Compared to them, my matters don’t add up to much.
I’m dead scared of what I’m going to do when they’re adults. I know I need to get something going for myself, but I have no idea where to begin. Bars and churches hold no hope for me. I cannot imagine any possiblities for the man I am. I don’t mean to sound like a complete downer, it’s just how I feel.
I know! Those blokes in bowflex ads seem to have it figured out. Just get in shape and your world will right itself! That’s what I should do, right? A tight bod and a convertible will fix everything! Sarcasm off… I’m not at all ignorant to the fact that I just need to take my own advice and pursue my desires. I just can’t really believe in a good life. It may seem like very small potatoes but I can’t summon the effort to try because I don’t believe it will do any good!
This is what I mean about these formative experiences: they have me so quagmired that I all I can do is maintain some kind of routine. The positives I’ve accumulated in my life fade into the darkness that I’ve carried from childhood. All that’s left is….nothing. No hope, no reason to plan more than a couple days to a week ahead other than for the kids. I don’t even know what it means to be excited anymore. The only kind of anticipation I know about lately is anxiety. The skills I do have for coping only do so much. The past is still there, just around the corner, shading and tainting everything in the present. All because of a crappy childhood. All because of events that occurred more than twenty years ago.
