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There are many factors that contribute to maintaining abstinence from drugs and alcohol. If you have been in addiction treatment or around 12-Step meetings, then undoubtedly you have heard many of these already. But they bear repeating. In fact, you can't hear them enough.
Now, of course, no want wants to be bipolar, but people do make the conscious decision to admit to their bipolar disorder online. There are many reasons to do this but often people want to be able to express themselves in catharsis or reach out for support. These are perfectly good reasons.
But, unfortunately, that decision is not always met with understanding and support. In fact, sometimes it’s met with vicious hatred.
Not long ago I was in touch with someone newly-diagnosed with bipolar disorder who had started a blog to express his feelings on it. He was just an ordinary guy trying to do his best to make sense of the senseless.
And what happened? Quite simply he was attacked on all sides from the antipsychiatry crowd. Somehow they found him, zeroed in on him, and hounded him with hatred until he slinked off of Twitter altogether.
This is pretty straight forward-I think."The Pink Elephant" can represent our mental illness. Nobody can see it, but we know that it's there.
Can You Define The Meaning of the "Pink Elephant?"
I'm talking about suicide, and I won't hold back. A friend of mine killed himself this week. He wrapped a noose around his neck and took his own life. I’m talking about it. And I’m not sugar-coating it. The statuses of those who knew him dominate my Facebook newsfeed, and I’m noticing that although everyone knows what happened, no one mentions it in writing. No one is openly talking about what took this young man away from us 30 or 40 years too soon (Understanding and Helping the Suicidal Person).
Your response to verbal abuse can, technically, make you abusive -- at least in that moment. And I'm willing to bet that most anyone who has been on the receiving end of long-term verbal abuse tries to fight fire with fire at some point. It's almost impossible to not retaliate against verbal abuse with more abuse initially, in the time before you understand that you're in an abusive relationship and before you learn better ways to respond to verbal abuse. In my case, my abusive response to verbal abuse turned me into someone I didn't like at all.
Last fall, I started reading more about cortisol, an adrenal hormone perhaps best known for its role in the fight or flight reaction. I’d heard a lot of chatter about how we’re all drenched in the stuff on account of modern life is like fighting hungry lions only without all the hungry lions. And it occurred to me that if busy work schedules and not enough down-time could produce enough excess cortisol to get medical doctors pushing things like meditation, living with trauma disorders like Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) must be as dangerous as battling a pride of hungry lions on the edge of an active volcano during a hurricane.
"Ben is so lucky to have you."
I hear that a lot, from healthcare providers who often don't even know the families of those they treat and from PAMIs (People Affected by Mental Illness) who usually add one of three things:
their family has given up on them - and they grieve the loss
their family has somehow made their recovery more difficult and they are glad to have broken free from them, or
their family has been a major part of their desire to stabilize, and they are so grateful for the love and support.
One of the most validating things I heard at the NAMI National Convention was this, from the producer of a photo collection called 99Faces Project: that a UCLA psychiatrist was quoted as saying that the most important common link among those in successful recovery was this: someone who loved them anyway, and walked alongside them on the journey.
I plan to be that for my son, carefully balancing, as much as possible, the letting go with the support when needed. That is a tough balance to achieve, but the success is in the desire to do so. This is Ben's journey, not mine, but I do always want him to feel our love.
I have been seeing a psychiatrist for about 14 years now. There have been many different individuals, but I’ve been seeing one or another for most of that time.
And in all of that time I’ve noticed something – I get anxious before a psychiatric appointment. Even though I’ve been doing this seemingly forever, when it actually comes time to sit in the waiting room and then be taken to the tiny room with the dingy paint, I feel anxious.
When you are diagnosed with a mental illness one of the first things you are told is that you need mediation in order to become well. And this is true--particularly with the diagnosis of chronic mental illness-- but medication does not ensure stability. It would certainly be nice if it did.
Coming to the Conclusion That Psychiatric Medication Cannot 'Cure' Mental Illness
I am...
A friend. A daughter. A sister. A writer. A lover of books and all things word-related. An intelligent, engaging person. A mom to my furry cat, Aliena. A curious, lively person who believes in learning.
I am me. I am not my eating disorder.
Sometimes it is hard to remember that.
Where do we go from here? Most of the family thinks just to let her hit bottom and then if she reaches out to help any we can. Some want to just keep paying her bills and just let her sit in the house with no responsibilities. Never been on medication and impossible to get to her when she refuses to talk to ANYONE.
Help.
On the day we agreed to videochat to make things less awkward IRL she woke up with a migraine so we rescheduled to the day after, I made sure to assure her that it was okay and to take her time. Later that day, in the late evening we had a nice chat but suddenly she stopped replying, even though nothing had happened. The day after I texted her good morning and said I hope she was feeling a little better. she wouldn't open my texts.
A couple days after I sent her a longer text saying that even though I had only known her for a short time I care a lot for her and would like to know how she are doing, telling her I'm there for her, assuring her I'm not going anywhere even though things might not be very easy. She wouldn't open it.
A week later I sent a text saying not to feel bad about not answering and that I will be there when she is able to answer again. It's been two weeks since this and she still hasn't opened my texts. She hasn't been active at all.
I don't know what else I can do. I assumed she might have fallen into a depression. I have tried to just not think about it anymore, and I haven't that much but when I do it sort of kills me inside...