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Breaking the stigma of mental illness
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In my late forties, the men I had known since childhood began dying – one by one I lost all of my uncles in a year and a half. Then in one terrible week, I lost a close childhood friend and my dad to cancer. Unable to cope with these losses, my mind went spiraling down.
Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, I felt caught up in the eye of a tornado. Everything and everyone seemed to be flying away from me, swirling in the wind until I was left with only my paranoid psychotic delusions and my dog. For a while, my mind wandered aimlessly trying to find the yellow brick road. Then I gave up, and slept drugged in the valley of the poppies.
Feelings of hopelessness overwhelmed me, leaving me with no will to live or die. All of my time was spent lying in bed with momentos of the dearly departed arranged like a halo around my head. I was trying to be close to those who had left, trying to get comfort from them, but unable to take steps, unable even to form a plan.
I woke up slowly, feeling all alone and empty. While I had given up on myself, not everyone had given up on me. A handful of people called often to offer support and encouragement. My therapist recorded a personal relaxation tape and sent me to a psychiatrist who prescribed the right medications (meds) along with words of encouragement. He saw me pro-bono when I couldn’t pay. A lot of people were actively working for my recovery by sharing their calm acceptance.
At first, I didn’t trust anyone, not even my mother. And my mom was there for me every step of the way. She took me into her home, drove me to medical appointments and the drug store, paid for my meds, fed me my meds, made my favorite foods, made my bed, bought me needlepoint kits, and tried to give me spending money. At that point, I felt a small spark of independence and decided to make my own spending money. My basic expenses had to cover my dog food and cigarettes which totaled 30.00 a week. It was a modest goal, but a goal none the less.
Slowly, from that one small determined thought, I started to rebuild my life. Selling pieces of my jewelry collection on eBay led to starting an online bead business. Along with working towards my financial independence, I started working on my emotional issues – taking my meds, focusing on my psychotherapy, saying affirmations, and playing my hypnosis tape. At first, the affirmations felt like lies. I was telling myself, ‘I have an abundance of money,’ when in reality I was struggling to buy dog food. I was saying, ‘I have an abundance of love,’ when I felt completely unloved and totally isolated. I kept parroting, ‘I have a rich and full life,’ when I spent all my time staring into space. And the biggest lie of all: ‘only good comes to me and only good goes from me,’ when I felt evil all around and within me.
It took years, but slowly my efforts bore results. I began to recognize my mother’s love, rejoiced the day I could afford to put a CD player in my car, started listening to music again, told jokes and laughed, and rediscovered the library and reading. I had a good minute, a good hour, a good day, a good week, and a good month. I had a good year.
I plodded on, saying my affirmations. ‘Only good comes to me and only good goes from me.’ I learned to forgive myself and others, to accept weakness in myself and in others. Starting to learn to love myself left me open to loving those around me. Some new kind supportive, appreciative friends joined a small core group of loyal old friends and family members. Now that I recognize the love that surrounds me, I truly do have an abundance of love. And right now, I really do have an abundance of material things – my monthly retirement check, my own spacious condo, great food, beautiful clothes, and a dependable car.
And yes, now I do have a full and rich life. My days are filled with things I love: writing, chocolate, hamburgers, reading mysteries, following sensational jury trials, playing with my dog, watching live theater, designing jewelry, watching old sitcoms, and laughing with my girlfriends. The world around me is beautiful even without emerald-colored glasses.
Now that I am no longer the stereotype of mental illness, I use my voice to fight the stigma. I tell my story to the public, and coach depressed seniors. When people get to know me, I tell them I have a mental health condition. They are in shock. They don’t believe it. They comment on how positive and stable I seem. I am positive and stable – I am many things. I am a 72-year-old single white middle-class woman. I am a second-generation American of Italian descent. I am a daughter, sister, aunt, lover, friend, neighbor, employee, employer, doggie mommy, and volunteer. I am an entrepreneur, a jewelry maker, an avid reader, a published author, and a peer mentor. I am intelligent, silly, kind, generous, and loving. I am a peacemaker and a leader. I am creative and innovative. And I am also mentally ill.
I am grateful for all I am, including, maybe especially, my mental illness. Because of my condition, I am a stronger person, more accepting of others, and less judgmental. I am capable of maneuvering little bumps in the road, bending with the wind, and bouncing back from adversity. I am grateful for the little things in life. I am calmer, more content and just plain happy. To me, living with mental illness is like being in the middle of a sun-drenched, flower-filled meadow after a long harsh winter.
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| Reviewed by Ronald Hull |
7/24/2024 |
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Very well written and certainly encouraging to those who have similar depression from loss of loved ones.
While I can't personally relate to the experience, my ex-wife can. People persons are the most susceptible to feeling hurt when they lose close loved ones. Based on what you've written you are definitely a people person. And a pet person, too.
Ron |
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