Today is World Mental Health Day and it’s time to stop being silent and tell the truth.
Silence is NOT golden – not when it’s about mental health or lack there of.
No one should feel that they cannot speak their truth. No one should feel that they need to hide in plain sight. In this day and age it shouldn’t be a big deal for people to stand up and say ‘I’m not okay.’
The only way to change that is for more of us to stand up and tell our truth.
This is my truth.
I have bipolar disorder, type 2.
Some days that diagnosis means little beyond the fact that I take a handful of prescription meds every night.
Some days my diagnosis means a lot.
Some days I wake up in pain and struggle to get the Boy ready and out the door for school. On the particularly bad days, I return home from the school run and crawl back into bed to sleep for another 3 or 4 hours.
I’ve always had family who supports me, both in the US and the UK. Truthfully, it’s my husband and son who keep me grounded. I do my best not to let them down. That doesn’t mean I don’t disappoint though.
No one outside of our home ever sees the days when I’ve struggled and spent most of the day sat still feeling impossibly overwhelmed. Those are the days when hubby comes home to find there is no dinner cooked. He steps up. He takes care of us. I rely on him so much on those dark days.
Over the last couple of years I’ve gone through rather a rough time with bipolar. I’ve been through a major depressive episode. I’ve felt lost and hopeless. I’ve felt that I’m a failure who disappoints everyone.
I’ve struggled with different medications – some that didn’t work, some that did, somewhere the balance between benefits/side-effects was never quite right. I took part in a clinical trial that looked at the efficacy of certain medications and vitamin regiments being used together. It wasn’t fun.
I spent far much time being too medicated – writing, thinking, being creative, felt impossible. It was immensely difficult.
Writing has always been an outlet for me. Not being able to think coherently and put words to paper in a way that made sense when I read them back was one of the worst bits.
Recovery takes time. It takes space. It’s the reason I’ve stepped away from so many things before they’ve been finished. I don’t like that fact, but it’s what I needed to carry on.
I didn’t ask for this. It’s just the way life is and I’m slowly coming to terms with it 15-ish years after diagnosis.
Day by day I carry on, through the good and the bad.
We’d love to have your support!.