First of all, apologies as I haven’t written a blog for a while. It’s down to a few reasons, work family also, I have been reading a few blogs and social media (tweets, Facebook posts) .
Everybody has their own unique way of writing and telling their stories which is amazing, it’s really helpful and takes some bottle to really open up and tell all, I have total respect to you all and thank you.
While reading them, I can see myself in most but also get why there is this stigma (which is bollocks). I tried to read from a neutral point of view and read every word as though I’d never struggled with anxiety attacks and mental health issues due to them. The words , the sentences they seem fictional!! Even though I know that they are 100% true, a ‘normal’ person reading them will think that we are lying. But why would people make things up? I write not to scare sufferers, I do not lie, I just want to let people know that it is ok, EVERYONE IS DIFFERENT!! I’m willing to tell you what goes on in my head and my life to try and help if you want to talk about or read it.
The help is great, can’t fault the blogs, however I’m going to talk about an incident, one like no other has made me think about people and my mental illness.
During the years, I must admit…. Even though the panic/anxiety has been crippling and I would not wish it upon my worst enemy, there have been some stories to tell. I cringed at the time, but when we (I mean close friends and family) talk about it them, laughter comes of it.
Which can only be good?
When I was about 25, the attacks were in full flow, I could not be left alone , never!! As you know , I was desperate , dependant on everyone and anyone. Selfishly struggling through that part of my life.
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.
Written by: Caroline CriadoPerez
Journalist & Feminist Activist
This is a blog I’ve been meaning to write for a while. I’ve held back mainly out of fear. I know that by writing this for public consumption, I’m giving more ammunition to those who seek to discredit me and dismiss everything I say as the irrational ramblings of an unbalanced hysteric. I also know that when they use this post to undermine my words, it will hurt me. But I feel like it’s my duty to write this, because there might be other people out there who have been struggling like I have, and don’t realise they don’t have to live this way. And also, I feel stronger now. I feel like maybe I will be able to cope with the inevitable jibes.
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.”
Written by: http://www.allinyourhead.co.uk/
When days become your night time and night becomes your day time, unless you are working a permanent night shift, there is a problem.
The anxiety/panic had become so bad, I could only sleep when I was surrounded by familiar faces and voices. In my mind, there was theory.
I’m a happy person generally, always game for a laugh and a joke , love a giggle and have to see people smile.
However, I was having attacks so frequently that my mind was set on the next one being ‘the one’ to finish me.
So my thinking was, ‘if it is going to happen, why don’t I die while the sun shines, where I can see or here my family rather than just sneak off in the dark of the night with nothing but silence and not having any happiness…?’ A very odd way of thinking for a man in his twenties?! I’d imagine me thinking of it in my eighties or nineties or possibly not at all. I had planned where when and how (heart attack) I was going to die!
I have never told anyone this but it gave me some sort of comfort.
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.
by Myrko Thum, Germany
“King Solomon once searched for a cure against depression. He assembled his wise men together. They meditated for a long time and gave him the following advice: Make yourself a ring and have thereon engraved the words “This too shall pass”. The King carried out the advice. He had the ring made and wore it constantly. Every time he felt sad and depressed, he looked at the ring, whereon his mood would change and he would feel cheerful.” (The Story of King Solomon)
This is a very personal post today.I want to share one of the darkest periods of my 34 years of life so far. It was the time when I was studying and when I suffered from a clinical depression or major depressive disorder. It was an extremely difficult and numbing time but it taught me a lot and I came out of it pretty strong.
My intent is to show what I have learned from it, how I came out of it and to inspire people who think they are in a hopeless situation right now.
by Kurt Cunningham
I tried to end my life one night after having a wonderful fun-filled evening with friends. It was in November 2012 — I had a plan in place for months. Not one person had any idea what I was planning to do.
After a series of life-changing events that began in 2009 and included the closing my once- successful business of nine years, and culminated with the death of my mother in August 2012 life just seemed unbearable to me. My finances were a mess. My health wasn’t great. And I couldn’t make a romantic relationship last more than a few months.
If you are a friend or relative of a loved one with mental illness, you too suffer the effects of the disorder. Burn out, compassion fatigue, hopelessness and feelings of powerlessness can go hand in hand while accompanying someone on their journey of recovery. As much as the struggle is theirs; it’s yours as well. You, as a personal caregiver are equally if not more vulnerable to burnout as those who are in the helping professions. Caregiver burnout: not just a sporadic weekend of feeling overwhelmed and overtired, but an unrelenting fatigue and emotional exhaustion which forces hundreds of people to take extended periods of time off work. Preventing this emotional and physical collapse is essential in order to remain effective in helping your loved one and saving your own sanity (literally).