Mentally ill people don’t have a pass on life’s crises. Wouldn’t it be great if The Universe said, "You are one who suffers daily. To make it fair, I hereby declare mentally ill people should be spared from life’s hardships?"

I sit in my home by myself because my family left. I don’t blame them. They just couldn’t take it anymore. What they couldn’t take was me and my posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD). I have come to refer to it as “the PTSD me,” because it often feels there’s two completely different people within me.

It's difficult for some loved ones to give us validation for our mental illness because they don't want to believe we're in so much pain that they cannot heal. Mental illnesses and the symptoms they cause can sometimes put us in a great deal of pain. We have a need to share our pain with others. There’s just a desire in us for people we care about to know that we’re hurting. We want them to know so they can comfort us, reassure us, and take care of us. Mental illness validation from our loved ones and doctors helps us to recover.

If you are a person with mental illness, it is important that you feel safe with your doctor or psychiatrist. Your relationship with your doctor is one of the most important relationships in your life. This person will hear some of the most intimate details of your life. They will help you decide what medications to take, at what dosage, to help you. Arguably, they will know you as well as your significant other does. Your doctor will have the power to hospitalize you against your will if they determine you to be a danger to yourself or others. So, do you feel safe with your doctor?

Coping with symptoms of mental illness can be a daily struggle for the mentally ill. Each person develops his or her own strategies to cope with these painful experiences. These strategies can be as unique to each person as you can make them. What works for you to battle your mental illness symptoms might not work for me, and vice versa. We learn these coping strategies over time in the crucible of our illness and the ways in which we gain insight into our symptoms and how they uniquely affect us. That’s why it’s not very helpful to say to a mentally ill person struggling with their symptoms, “Just do this,” or “Just do that.”

In 2010, I worked as a peer support specialist for a mental health organization in my community. Having been on the job for just over a year, I was feeling fulfilled and proud of myself for what I’d accomplished. Most importantly, I was making a difference to other people who suffered from mental illness. My colleagues were happy with my work and made it a point of telling me so. So imagine my surprise when I was called into the boss’s office one day. She looked at me and said, “Mike, you are decompensating.” I didn’t even know what that meant.

Have you ever noticed that control is a major life issue for people? And have you noticed that we all, as human beings, want to have control of ourselves, others, and pretty much the entire universe, if we had our way? Of course, you've noticed, because you've lived around other people enough to know that our quest to control permeates much of our lives.

Mental health recovery is an exercise in hope. Hope—the earnest expectation of coming good. Hope is indispensable to our recovery. Hope can help us move away from the terror of defeat and despondency. It's not an abstract idea that makes no real difference in our recovery. It’s the cornerstone upon which the entire recovery foundation is built. There can be no recovery without hope. Despair on the other hand, is a hellish pit we can find ourselves in if we are not careful.

The source of much of our discomfort lies in what we find unacceptable. I’m heartbroken because I don’t want to accept that person I loved is gone forever. I’m anxious because I don’t want to accept that I might actually be safe, that no one is trying to purposely hurt me. I’m sad because I have difficulty accepting that there are actually good and lovely things in this world, as well as the bad things. I don’t want to accept that I need to be on this medication now, and maybe for life. All these things, and many more, I find unacceptable.

I want to tell you about my neighbors. That is, I would tell you about my neighbors if I knew any of them. Now partly, it's a societal change. Many people just aren't neighbors anymore in the classic sense of the word. Oh sure, we'll wave across the fence, but that's pretty much it. I've lived in the same house for 14 years now. The reason I don't do the neighbor thing is because I don't want them to know me.