Last month on the 28th of February I tried to commit suicide for the third time.. I took an overdose and cut both my wrist so deep that I needed stitches.. The Monday I got admitted to a psychiatric hospital for the second time in two years..
Hi, today I want to talk about medication, mania, voices and finding the right doctor.. I have been diagnosed with bipolar disorder about a year ago.. I have been hearing voices for two years.. well I’ve been hearing them on and off.. depends on my mood.. Continue reading
Written by Fliss Baker
Twitter is a wonderful thing! I’m four thousand miles away and I’m meeting the like-minded. For info I’m a writer, author, volunteer and guest speaker in mental health and I love it.
Oh, and I have a diagnosis of bipolar.
I receive ongoing professional treatment in an attempt to manage my depressive and manic cycles. I am also in recovery for an eating disorder.
It’s important I introduce myself before my illness because as much as it rules my life at times, I will not let it define me.
I honestly do not know where to start. I am devastated. I was having a hard time deciding what my next post would be about, and then he was gone… As I wrestle and fight to come to terms with this emotional tornado, I stand my ground as the high winds smack the cold tears running down my face. I scream into the unforgiving truth and it just continues to spin more violently out of control. Inside I am dying, but my adrenaline forces me to fight. My muscles burn hot like 1,000 volcanoes and my clenched fists swing illogically at the twisted cold truth. I hit nothing. The tornado runs me over and back again. I jump up when I can, and continue to scream and swing. If it had a mouth it would laugh at me as it pushed me further down into the dirt. The tornado has grown tired of me, and moves on to destroy bigger and better people… just because it can. I lay with my face in the muck, and as I lift my head, I see the vultures and parasites coming right at me. If this was Hollywood, they would already be drawing a chalk outline around my body. It hasn’t even been 24 hours since I heard the news and the ignorant vultures are coming for his legacy and my sanity. Usually, they are innocuous goons in their highly coveted prime time slots, but now they smell the fear and sadness like a shark smells blood in the water and they become apex predators in their own minds. Even though they can’t maintain the momentum for very long, it is an opportunistic feeding on the weak that their ignorance and general hatred fuels because the time is right.
Written by Marisa Lancione
Some people’s depression is triggered by an event, a major loss or a tragedy. My first depressive episode had no inciting incident. It happened slowly and all at once. The sadness and dread was overwhelming. I couldn’t stop crying. I stopped going out. I stopped talking to my roommates. I hated everything and everyone. I skipped classes. I stopped eating. I thought about suicide and I started cutting.
For me, the scariest part of depression is when the tears stop and the numbness sets in. You start to wonder if you’ll ever feel anything again or if you’re doomed to walk through the rest of your life like a zombie. It was when the numbness had enveloped me that I cut for the first time.
By Andy “Electroboy” Behrman
For years, I suffered with a mental disability. I still do — no one has found a cure for manic depression (bipolar disorder) yet. During those crisis years, though, nobody knew anything was really wrong with me. I was experiencing a wild rollercoaster ride of frightening highs and lows that put my life in jeopardy, but my disability was completely invisible.
By AIMEE LEE BALL
To the casual observer, Danielle Hark was living an enviable life, with a devoted husband, a new baby and work she enjoyed as a freelance photo editor. But she was so immobilized by depression that she could barely get out of bed. Her emotional state could not be explained in postpartum terms — she had suffered from debilitating depression for most of her life, and ultimately received a diagnosis of bipolar disorder when her daughter was a year old.
“I thought about killing myself for the first time in seventh grade,” said Ms. Hark, now 33. “I went from therapist to therapist and medication to medication, not comfortable with anyone or any drugs.”
My story is really not for the faint harted.. I am 18 years old btw.. I was diagnosed when I was 17.. So last year in the middle of the year I became really manic, I was running in the street naked at 2 in the morning, I was arrested for public indecency on more than one occasion, I tried to steel a stop sign and I did’t sleep at all.. So during that time I started doing drugs and drinking and it was really bad.. But for some reason my mom and dad was to busy with their own lives that they did’t realize that there was something really wrong with me..
By: Keith O’Neil
Everything was perfect. I had recently retired from the NFL with a Super Bowl ring. I was working in a great industry as a medical device representative. Jill and I had recently settled into our dream home located in a beautiful suburb outside of my hometown of Buffalo, NY. We were back around family and friends on a regular basis for the first time in many years – we were enjoying life! Thoughts of having a family of our own were on the horizon. Life was good, even great.
By Elena Peters
In many ways, my marriage is no different than anyone else’s marriage. This is the second marriage for both my husband and I. We both have children from previous marriages. We both have ex-spouses that are still involved in our lives on a daily basis. We have extended families with varied backgrounds, sprinkled all around the world. We have jobs and mortgages and commitments that pull us in all sorts of directions.
Just like any other marriage, there are things that bug me!
My husband leaves the toilet seat up, doesn’t put the cap back on the toothpaste and leaves dishes around the house like he’s expecting the maid to pick up after him. We don’t have one. I guess he thinks that’s me. We have disagreements about finances and children. See, just like the rest, except for one difference: my husband has Bipolar Disorder Type 1.