I wrote many blog posts this past year about my struggles late last summer with weeks of acute panic and anxiety that left me traumatized. I attended weekly therapy and worked hard for almost a year to get to a point where I could finally revisit the place where the worst of the trauma occurred, which I did, successfully. With that said, I'm wondering if therapy still makes sense for me.

Should I Keep Going to Therapy?

Despite my successes, there are still things that I avoid with regard to events leading up to the debilitating episodes of mental illness I endured. I last spoke to my therapist about a month ago, at which time we discussed if therapy (with her) is the right path for me. She advised me to consider what my goals for therapy would be going forward.

I feel at peace right now. I feel whole and happy, and I am reticent to delve into the trauma further for fear of stirring up who knows what. In truth, and after a month of consideration, I still don't know.

Trigger warning: This post contains a frank discussion of borderline personality disorder and suicide.

Surviving borderline personality disorder (BPD) is no small victory. I am incredibly grateful to myself for choosing life at a time when my pain seemed infinite. Last time I spoke about why I did not consider suicide as a child. This time, I talk about why I did consider suicide as an adult.

Surviving BPD: The Fantasy

Unlike how I felt as a child, the pain of living as an adult with BPD seemed unending. I hadn’t yet learned about the disorder, and I didn’t understand why I was constantly so miserable. This pain had always been there, and I was beginning to assume it always would be. The fantasy of no longer living would bring me an incredible sense of relief and escape. I often used thoughts of suicide as a coping mechanism.

Maybe two years ago, amidst a particularly dreadful BPD low point, I resolved to stop fantasizing and decide on the question of my ongoing existence. I find life of all shapes and sizes precious, and my life is no different. To honor my integrity, I decided that for one whole year, I would do everything a person is “supposed to do” to be happy, including:

• Exercising twice a week
• Getting therapy
• Talking to a doctor about medication
• Regularly meditating
• Reading books on self-help

I planned that if I was still in unbearable pain after consistently doing all of that for a year, I could die with a clean conscience.

Surviving BPD: My Own Savior

I am happy to report that starting therapy and antidepressants quickly and radically improved my quality of life and dissolved any further desire to stop living. I look at this story and am impressed and grateful for who I am at my core. Even at rock bottom, I still committed to putting everything I had into saving myself. I genuinely owe myself my life.

Do you have any experience with suicidal ideation? Let me know in the comments.

If you feel that you may hurt yourself or someone else, call 9-1-1 immediately.

For more information on suicide, see our suicide information, resources, and support section. For additional mental health help, please see our mental health hotline numbers and referral information section.

When we think of ways to counter attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), sleep may not be at the top of anyone's list. However, enforcing sleep hygiene is an incredible tool I use for suppressing ADHD-related symptoms. Along with medication and exercise, good sleep hygiene forms the backbone of my attack on ADHD. My body took a while to adjust to a firm schedule, but it was worth persevering as the benefits of sleep can't be overestimated. 

My Sleep Hygiene Routine to Counter ADHD Symptoms

Get to Bed Early, Get Up Early

My current bedtime routine is the opposite of my pre-medication routine. Where once I slopped into bed at 5:00 a.m., that's now the time I'm springing out of it to start the day. I use the relative peace of pre-dawn mornings to write and the immediate post-sleep refreshment to scratch off the bulk of my to-do list.

Take a Daily Nap

At around noon--the time I used to wake up at--I go back to bed. I don a mask, stick on some rain sounds, and grab a 90-minute siesta. This biphasic sleep pattern, in which I nap most afternoons, takes advantage of the sluggishness I feel when I don't take a nap, a sluggishness that stops me from getting much work done. In this routine, I never have any trouble sleeping on the nights following an afternoon nap.

Don't Have Any Bedtime Blacklists

More than once, I've read that to optimize sleeping patterns, the bed should only be used for sleeping itself. I don't subscribe to that idea. For me, it's enough to read my phone on a dimmed-light setting before sticking it on silent while I rest.

In the mornings, I use my bed to read in and drink coffee. Far from being a hindrance, this morning coffee/book routine actually helps to solidify the overall sleep routine. When the coffee's done, it's time to get up and make the bed. When the bed is made, it's time to sit at my desk.

This fastidiousness towards sleep forms part of an overall strategy. By setting up healthy routines, I dull the mental chatter that asks whether I should be doing that instead of doing this. At this point, my healthy sleep routine, like other routines, is virtually automatic.

So, where once was chaos, there now lives structure. This structure ensures I get things done. That's because, despite taking effective medication, my battle against ADHD is daily. It will probably always be daily. That's fine, though. As long as I get plenty of sleep, it's a battle I'm confident I'm winning.

Public speaking is an act that has typically triggered my anxiety. I had to work on it for several years to get to a point where I could manage my public speaking anxiety and anxiety in general.

When I was a young teenager, I dreamed of having a career that would allow me to speak in front of large audiences. So, I decided to join school activities that allowed me to do this. But I found that every time I was in front of a group of people, small or large, I would panic and feel completely terrified.

Unfortunately, I believe I started to reinforce this anxiety in myself because, throughout the years, I would feel increasingly anxious any time I had to speak in front of others, even if it was something as simple as speaking up in class.

What Happens When Public Speaking Causes Anxiety

I've become very familiar with the symptoms I feel when my anxiety is in full gear. My heart races, and I tremble, feel ill, and become very tense. I also often feel this overwhelming need to escape my situation. One of the more difficult-to-manage anxiety symptoms that sometimes can make it hard to function is that I will have a hard time concentrating.

When it comes to public speaking, this difficulty concentrating can be problematic, especially when, at the moment, it is necessary to think on your feet.

The more I reinforced anxiety by worrying about the act before I did it, the worse my symptoms became. And I found that the racing thoughts, including the excessive worrying, became worse as well, which then made all the other symptoms worse. So, during earlier years in my career, I simply did everything I could to avoid speaking in public.

What I Found Helpful for Coping with Public Speaking Anxiety

In the way my career was headed, I knew I wouldn't be able to avoid speaking in front of people forever. And I also found that after the times that I spoke in front of people and it went well, I would actually feel excited and exhilarated.

I started to pay close attention to what I was doing before these situations that would either provoke my anxiety or make it worse or help me feel calmer. Now, this is what has become helpful for me when dealing with public speaking anxiety:

1. Overprepareing -- I often noticed that the anxiety came from worrying about what I was going to talk about and how familiar I was with it. So I found it helpful to make sure that I was prepared, and then when I felt l was, take it even a step further. Doing so helped to build my confidence.
2. Being confident -- As a result, building my confidence has ultimately helped me throughout the years. When you struggle with anxiety, confidence is often one of the hardest things to build because we worry constantly and tend to second-guess every decision we make. It's typically those worries that keep us up at night. However, finding ways to build your confidence becomes tremendously helpful in combating the anxiety felt from having to appear confident when speaking in front of an audience.
3. Focusing on the content -- This is one of my key strategies for being able to speak confidently in front of others. When I am focused on what I am speaking about instead of focusing on the audience in front of me, it gets to a point where it is simply me and the content. This becomes a kind of dam blocking a wave of anxiety that could easily overtake me. This took some practice to be able to do intentionally over the years, but the more I have practiced mindfulness, the more I have found I can do this.

I still experience some jitters here and there; however, it is immensely less than it used to be. I am also aware, though, that the dam I have in place to block those waves of anxiety can easily crack if I allow it to.

If there are things you do to lessen your public speaking anxiety, share them in the comments below.

Sometimes I wonder what my life would look like if I didn't have borderline personality disorder (BPD) and complex posttraumatic stress disorder (complex PTSD). It saddens me to think about the experiences and accomplishments I may have missed out on due to my ongoing battle with mental illness. While it's impossible to know the life I could have had, it's an interesting thought experiment to look back and imagine how things could have turned out differently. What if I'd led a life without mental illness?

A Life Without Mental Illness May Have Saved Relationships

Living with BPD and complex PTSD, I tend towards hypervigilance, defensiveness, and insecurity. I fear conflict and go to great lengths to avoid it; I'm quick to bail on relationships when the going gets tough, and I struggle to share my real opinions, feelings, and needs with anyone.

If I didn't have mental illnesses, I think I'd be more optimistic, resilient, and confident. I'd handle conflict with greater grace and ease; I'd be more persistent in repairing and nurturing my relationships with family, friends, and partners, and I'd bring more of myself to the table, as opposed to presenting a curated version of my identity in an attempt to avoid judgment and rejection. I think my past friendships and romantic relationships would have been healthier and lasted longer. I probably would have stayed on better terms with my family, and I definitely would have hung in there longer with at least a few of my past jobs.

My Career Might Have Developed Differently in a Life Without Mental Illness

I had big plans for my career. When I went to university for the first time, I wanted to be a psychiatrist, but I wasn't well enough to do a post-graduate degree. So, after graduation, I spent five years grappling with my mental health and working as a tutor, receptionist, live model, and maid.

When I went back to university to get my second undergraduate degree, I wanted to become a writer and professor. Once again, though, I wasn't well enough to do a master's degree. I went on to work as an English as a second language (ESL) instructor, administrative assistant, and proofreader.

Would I be working as a psychiatrist or professor now if I'd been well enough to complete my post-secondary education? I'd like to think I would be. I know I'm intelligent enough to do it. Intelligence has never been the issue; emotions have. If I didn't have a life with mental illness and had held greater mastery over my emotions, I believe it would have enabled me to achieve the career success I've only been able to dream of for decades.

Greater career success would have also contributed to success in other areas of my life. Money isn't everything, but not having enough of it has contributed to my poor mental health over the years. If nothing else, more money would have bought me more therapy, and that alone would have made a significant positive impact on my mental health and quality of life.

It's Never Too Late to Start Again

I suppose it's a futile exercise to speculate about how my life would have been different if I hadn't had to deal with mental illness from a young age. No matter what I do, I can't change the past. At the same time, it's an opportunity to reflect on the things that are important to me now -- namely, my relationships and my career.

I'm not where I want to be with my career, and I'm not as good of a friend, daughter, sister, aunt, partner, or employee as I would like to be. I need to remember, however, that just because certain things have been out of reach for me in the past doesn't mean they will be in the future. I may have BPD and complex PTSD for the rest of my life, but I am more than my mental illness. As long as I'm alive, I still have a chance to imagine a better future for myself and pursue it to the best of my ability.

Today we'll discuss how not to hate your life. But first, in the last post, I suggested that we ought to drive a wedge between the mechanism by which we understand the world—our brains—and the product of that understanding—ourselves. In the end, I declared that you are pure observation. If you're still scratching your head about this, an easier way to view it is to equate yourself with your experience of reality, keeping in mind that said experience is mediated completely by your brain. It's critical you understand this. Because if you don't, you won't understand that your experience of reality and reality itself has very little to do with each other. The latter is unyielding. The former is entirely subject to the direction it's pointed in.

Hating Your Life Is Hating Yourself

Let's make this tangible. A few days ago, a negative email exchange with my homeowner's association left me both furious and anxious. I was knocked so thoroughly off my pivot that I had to excuse myself from a team planning meeting to be alone. As I stood fuming with hatred, a touch of shame, and a boatload of concern that I'd be arriving home later to an eviction notice, I wanted very badly to run away from my life. I'm no stranger to this kind of escapism; I floated through college in one long fantasy of faking my own death.

This time, though, as I watched some far-away trees that I wished I could become, I realized it wasn't my life I wanted to run away from; it was my experience. It was me. Everything I wanted to run away from was lodged inside my skull, and no amount of distance from my apartment would diminish it. 

So instead, I changed my experience. I chuckled at a colleague's lame joke when she stopped to hob-knob. I spoke very poor Spanish to a member of the maintenance team. I asked a passing fourth-grader what he was going to be for Halloween and told him to tie his shoe. I came; I saw; I conquered. I conquered me, that is. 

Hating Yourself Is Hating Your Feelings

The brain receives sensory input. This sensory input triggers emotional reactions. Many of these emotional reactions make us feel downright miserable or, at least, mildly uncomfortable. We go through life at the mercy of these sentimental weather patterns that wreak havoc on the very experience of reality that constitutes ourselves. 

But here's the skinny: it doesn't have to be this way. Recall above that your experience is subject to the direction it's pointed in. Your experience is mutable, and you can learn to direct it. The very first step is to stop trusting it. 

How Not to Hate Your Life: Be the Boss of Your Feelings

Them's fightin' words in the epoch of self-love and empowerment, but I don't mean that you shouldn't trust yourself. I mean that you shouldn't trust your emotional life as the end-all, be-all of reality. We've already established that we know very little about reality; our brain absorbs droplets of reality and spits up interpretations—probably faulty ones. Knowing this and believing it doesn't mean you won't have emotions anymore. It means you'll be able to think above them. Practice this double-sight enough, and not only will you be able to recognize when you have an emotional reaction that's coloring your worldview for the worse, but you'll also be able to redirect your view of the world toward subject matter that doesn't bring you down.

This isn't make-believe; it's a superpower.

Antipsychotics are a class of medications that many people don't like to take. In fact, I was terrified of the notion that it was even a possibility once upon a time. But antipsychotics are often used to treat bipolar disorder and some depression, along with illnesses like schizophrenia, with which we classically associate psychosis. But even though antipsychotics are approved for use in those areas — thus proving they do work for some with those illnesses — people still don't like to take antipsychotics. Why don't people like to take antipsychotics? Well, if you're me, it's because you've tried them.

Why People Don't Like Antipsychotics — What's in a Name?

The very word "antipsychotic" sounds scary. It really, really sounds like a pill they give extra-crazy people. That isn't fair or accurate, of course; "antipsychotic" is simply a class of medication like any other, but the word brings about images of straight jackets, locked wards, and butterfly nets. I don't blame people for reflexively thinking these things. I did it too.

Why Don't People Like Antipsychotics — They're Hard to Take

But even once you get past the word and admit that, yes, the data shows they work for various conditions and actually try the darn things, you might not find you like antipsychotics much more. That's because antipsychotics can be very hard for some people to take. Take me, for example. 

Right now, I'm on day three of a new antipsychotic medication. In my case, I've added it to my existing cocktail. I can't afford to change anything until I find out if the new antipsychotic will be effective for me. This means a multiplication of the side effects as the new medication and the cocktail interact.

And let me tell you, the side effects have been nasty. Friday (day one), I felt like I'd been hit by a truck. I was pretty sure every muscle, joint, and bone in my body was in pain. And I was feeling massively over-drugged all day. It was like someone had slipped me something awful, and I couldn't get it out of my system.

Here, on day three, I may have only been hit by a car and not a truck. It's far from glorious.

And in some cases, previous outings with antipsychotics have been even worse.  

Loath or Love Antipsychotics, Here's What You Need to Remember

But here's the thing, while this is scary and does, in fact, scare some people into stopping the medication, stopping the antipsychotic is an overreaction and a mistake. Day three doesn't count. This suffering doesn't count, sorry.

The fact of the matter is I will likely adjust to this medication — most people do. It feels like being hit by a car today instead of a truck because I'm starting to adjust already. My body is acclimating to the new substance, and the side effects will lessen with time. This is true for almost everyone. The positive effects may take weeks to be seen, but the nasty side effects will start to clear sooner than that.

So, the thing to remember about not liking antipsychotics is that they get better over time. Your experience with them will get better over time (probably). So, stick it out. Suffer now, and get better later. That's the way this game is played.

While it's completely understandable not to like antipsychotics, it's important to remember they serve a function, and if you don't allow your body to get past this suffering, you'll never know whether there was usefulness for you on the other side. After all, many of us only get better with the right medication, and you can't know if this is the right one for you without giving it a proper trial.

So, yeah, I don't like antipsychotics. I don't like taking antipsychotics. I could write soliloquy after soliloquy about why I don't like antipsychotics, but that doesn't change the one thing that matters: Sometimes, they work. Sometimes, they make you better. Sometimes, you need a giant weapon to quell a giant disease.

I will take my antipsychotic, as prescribed, and I will give it a fair trial, not because it is easy, but rather because it's critical to my wellness. Yes, my suffering now could mean wellness later. And that's the thing to remember.

Note: None of the above is, in any way, to be considered medical advice. If you have any concerns about any of your medications, contact your doctor immediately. Only they can help you make the best decision possible about taking them.

Welcome to a syndication of Snap Out of It! The Mental Illness in the Workplace Podcast with Natasha Tracy.

In this podcast episode, Snap Out of It! is pleased to speak with award-winning podcaster and mental health advocate Gabe Howard. Gabe has lived with bipolar and anxiety disorders since 2003. Gabe has a harrowing tale of when he was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Not only does he speak to what it is like to work with bipolar disorder before being diagnosed, but he also speaks to what it is like to “come out” at work and, finally, be fired because of bipolar disorder.

Snap Out of It! is available across podcast platforms. For more on this podcast, check out http://snapoutofitpodcast.com.

Dating Like a 'Cougar' Feels Safe and Lonely with BPD and Complex PTSD

Something happened when I turned 40: I pretty much stopped dating my age. Over the past four years, almost all of my dates have been with men in their 20s. I believe the term for a woman like me is "cougar." While dating men so much younger than me has been exciting and fun, it's also been incredibly lonely. So, why have I been clinging to the cougar life for so long?

One reason is that living with borderline personality disorder (BPD) and complex posttraumatic stress disorder (complex PTSD) makes me want to avoid commitment and emotional intimacy. The result has been casual relationships with young men based on sex, but I know I need emotional connection and companionship, too. I know I need love. 

In this video, watch me contemplate why I feel like I'm ready to expand my dating horizons and embrace all of my feelings and needs as a (somewhat) mature woman.

Confession: sometimes, I'm afraid of complete eating disorder (ED) recovery. What does this mean exactly? It's hard to articulate, but there is a small (albeit influential and persistent) voice in the back of my head that warns me not to lose the ED behaviors I relied on for so long. As irrational as this might sound, I feel a sense of comfort and reassurance in knowing I can re-access the eating disorder anytime I need it.

After all, it was my secret weapon—a source of identity, an outlet of control, an area I excelled in, an ability that made me feel special and unique. As I type all this out, I am aware none of those beliefs are actually true. But even with that self-awareness, I still can't deny what lives inside of me: sometimes, I'm afraid of complete ED recovery.      

Here's What Scares Me About Complete ED Recovery Sometimes

I haven't acted on those ED temptations and behaviors in at least four years, but sometimes I fantasize about dipping my toes into the metaphorical waters again. I wonder if I'm still capable of the extreme level of physical and mental discipline (or self-abuse, to be honest) an eating disorder requires. I suspect that's where the fear comes from—if I heal entirely, will I abandon a part of myself who felt exceptional, strong, relentless, and powerful?

If I step away from the behaviors that inflated this feeling of power, does it mean I'm weak? What if a circumstance arises that becomes too much to handle without the ED crutch to lean on? Do I have it in me to cut permanent ties with an illness that was once my religion? The answer is: yes, of course I do. Continuously, I prove those fears and insecurities wrong. I have enough life experience to know I can thrive in the absence of an eating disorder. I realize how much I eat, weigh, or exercise is not the measurement of my worth. I understand there's no reason to be miserable when healing is possible and attainable. 

However, this doesn't change the harsh reality that sometimes I'm afraid of complete ED recovery. I miss the rush of dopamine from thinking I could exert superhuman control over my own body. I crave the satisfaction of running for hours on an empty stomach. The illness was like an addictive high—a potentially fatal one, but so enticing nonetheless. I will not let the eating disorder lure me back into its clutches, though. I can spot these lies it wants me to believe, and while I acknowledge the temptation, I also reject the impulse to give in. I'm afraid of complete ED recovery, but I'll never stop re-committing myself to it.

Complete ED Recovery Feels Scary Sometimes—And That's Alright

This is not one of those articles where I sign off with a clear, practical solution or a series of useful action steps. The truth is, I don't have much insight on how to overcome a fear of complete ED recovery once and for all. At this moment, I just need to share the confession because, as one of my former therapists often told me: "Secrets keep you sick."

It's quite possible I will wrestle with missing certain behaviors while still choosing to heal for the rest of my life. I sure hope not, but it remains to be seen. Right now, I'll simply own that sometimes I'm afraid of complete ED recovery—and this feels like a normal human emotion.