FINDING A THERAPIST

Finding the right therapist for you is a process of elimination. You must search for someone whose personality is pleasing to you, and one whom you feel comfortable with. I went through several therapists till I found the right one. The problem is, there are good ones and bad ones. I had my share of bad ones.

 

When my mother first found out about my illness, she took me to a therapist in a nearby town. The therapist told me I was injuring myself for attention, and by doing that, I was hurting my family and friends. I went home after therapy crying. Years later, I went to a therapist who told me to think happy thoughts and my depression would go away. Another one listened to what my ex-boyfriend told her and lectured me instead of hearing my side.

 

I felt like giving up, but I kept searching. I knew I couldn't get better without help. When I was in college, my Mom went to a hospital with mental health services, and they gave her a number for counseling services. I found a therapist who educated me about depression and helped me battle my illness.

 

Years later when my ex-boyfriend left me, I went to a therapist who gave me homework, allowed me to write down my thoughts, and helped me reach recovery once again. I continued to see this therapist until recently when she changed jobs. She helped me through many rough times, and taught my husband about my illness.

 

In order to make therapy work, I had to develop a bond with my therapist. I had to feel comfortable telling her my deepest, darkest secrets. To do this, I had to find a therapist whom I could trust. It took me several sessions till I felt comfortable enough with my therapist to share my life story.

 

To find a therapist, look in your telephone book or search online. There are several sites that you can type in your state and they will give you a list of therapists. One site is Psychology Today at http://therapists.psychologytoday.com/rms/. Also check for state funded programs. Go to National Alliance For Mental Illness, NAMI, for help. You can find NAMI's website on my sidebar. I found a therapist through a free program offered at my job.

 

Don't give up if a therapist doesn't suit your needs or isn't very good. Keep searching till you find the one that is best for you. I didn't give up, and in time I found a therapist who helped me reach the light. Once I found the therapist best for me, I worked hard and I listened to her advice. I had to be willing to get better for therapy to work effectively. Once I put all my effort into recovery, I was able to find the light and dance within.

THERE WILL BE ROUGH TIMES

Even though I have been dancing in the light for many years, I do have times when my illness gets the best of me. Recently I had foot surgery and after going back to work, I got an infection in my foot. For over a week I have been off work, laid up, my foot wrapped in bandages to my knee, and in pain. For almost six months I have been wearing an air cast boot. With all this going on I fell into a depression.

 

Suddenly, everything seemed hopeless. No matter how much I tried to think about the positive side to my situation, I got lost in jumping to conclusions, magnifying, and worrying. I thought my foot would never heal. I still fight with this feeling of hopelessness as I still struggle to recover.

 

Being laid up leaves the mind to wander into the realms of darkness. I'm useless. I can't even help pay the bills. We are going to go broke because of my dumb foot. I am going to be stuck in this boot for life. I'm never going to heal and I will have to leave my job. Maybe I should have never had the surgery.

 

While my mind continued on into the world of negativity, my mood dipped into sadness. I cried in my husband arms, I moped around the house, and worried myself sick.

 

I tried to keep my mind busy while I was off from work. I watched movies, I worked on a book I'm writing, and I read. My mind still kept slipping into the hole. I turned to my husband and friends. They reminded me to find the positive side to my situation. I had and have family and friends to help me out. I have a home, I have a loving husband and a dog who sticks at my side when my husband is at work.

 

Even though I have returned to work, my sadness lingers. I worry that the pain will not go away. I worry I will have to take a sick leave and we will not be able to pay our bills. I cried for a half hour when I had to go home early because I was in a lot of pain. My friends and husband remind me the healing process takes time, and even though I can only work four hour days, at least I'm working. My foot is no longer wrapped in bandages to my knee, so it shows progress.

 

While at home I write my feelings down in a journal, I try to remind myself of the good things in my life, I lean on my support system, and I try to keep myself busy.

 

I may be facing a bout of depression once again, but this time I know how to handle it and keep it from pushing me all the way down the hole. I'm too strong to let this sadness push me to the bottom of the pit of darkness.

PETS ARE A COMFORT

I was never a pet lover until my ex-boyfriend brought home a dachshund named Daisy. At first I wanted nothing to do with her, but she was determined to get my attention. She sat on my lap and nudged my hand with her nose. Where ever I went, she followed and at night she slept next to me. Before long, I was captured by her determination. I fell in love with her.

When my depression progressed, Daisy stayed by my side showing me unconditional love. When I lay in bed ready to give up, she snuggled close to me and stared into my eyes with her beady brown eyes. It was as if she were saying, “I love you and I'm here for you.”

When I was placed in a hospital, Daisy refused to eat and that gave me the strength to get better. I knew I needed to get out of the hospital so my Daisy would start eating again. So within a week, I was released from the hospital and Daisy and I were reunited.

When Daisy passed on, I got a rat terrier named Brandi. Brandi had more spunk then Daisy and was much younger. When I got depressed ,she'd jump up and down till I got up and walked her. She kept me moving and reminded me how important it was to walk even when I didn't feel like it. She showed me that I had someone other than myself to take care of. I had to keep going if not for me, than for her.

The dog I have now, Elli, loves to snuggle. She snuggles up on my lap and follows me around. She keeps me company when my husband is at work and makes sure she sends me off to work with extra love.

The love of a pet has given me the extra strength I need to fight the darkness and the comfort I need when the world seems hopeless. My dogs were and are not just pets, but they are my babies. I hold them dear to my heart. They help me see the light and give me a reason to dance within the light. They never turned their backs on me even when some of my friends had.

A pet of any type can be a comfort for a person struggling with mental illness. For me, it was and is the love of a dog that gives me extra strength to face each day. All my dogs seemed to know when I was at my worst. They knew when to stay extra close. My buddy, Elli, is very loving and never stops showing me how much she adores me.

LACK OF SLEEP

Some people with mental illness sleep all day and night with no energy to get up, but for others, sleep seems impossible. I'm one of those people who could not sleep and to this day still can't without the help of medication. Nighttime is when my brain goes into over drive. All my fears, worries, and negative thoughts race through my mind at night.

 

I roll from side to side and try to clear my mind, but my thoughts are relentless. My muscles tense and my stomach bounces like a basketball.

 

In my college years, I worried about classes, my grades, about holding on to a friendship that at the time I couldn't see was bad for me, and whether or not my car would make it to the college. I feared getting a bad grade, failing a test, being alone, losing a friendship, and facing another day.

 

Will I be able to pass my classes? Can I make it through another day? Will my friend leave me? Will I be all alone? Is this sadness going to ever end? Am I a loser like everyone said in high school?

 

Now in my adult days my worries are much different. Will we be able to pay our bills? Will we go broke? What if I make a mistake at work and get fired? Am I a good wife? What bills do we have to pay this week? Will our checks be big enough to cover our bills and still have money for groceries and gas? Can I make it through work without too much foot pain? Am I a good cashier?

 

Then there's the fear that etches its boney fingers into my soul. I'm not a good wife. I'm going to make a mistake and get fired. We are going to go broke and lose our home.

 

I roll from side to side as my mind races. I sit up in bed and lay back down. I try to clear my mind. What can I think about that is positive? I try to picture my husband and me on an exotic vacation, but the thoughts intrude. I look at the clock--2:00 am. No matter how hard I try, sleep will not come.

 

I told my psychiatrist about my inability to sleep at night, and he put me on an anxiety medication that relaxes me so much that I drift off. I also use a relaxation tape to help calm my nerves. The one down side to medication is I can't get up in the morning without being groggy. I prefer to be sleepy in the mornings over staying up all night.

 

Getting enough sleep is important to maintain my mental stability and if it takes medicine to achieve this, I'm willing to do it. In order to stay above the dark hole, I must be able to get plenty of rest at night. It's another dreaded pill, but it's worth it.

Is God Real?

When I fell deep into the hole, I began to question God. Was there a God? If so, why was He letting me suffer? Was I being punished? How could He let me survive in a life of darkness? Maybe God was just a made up illusion like Santa Claus. If He was real, wouldn't He take away the darkness?

 

I was raised in a small Methodist church in Ripley New York. I went to church, pretty much every Sunday. My parents were and are strong believers in God, and I was brought up with the knowledge that God was a big part of our lives. When I became ill, I started to lose faith in God, and all that I learned growing up seemed like a myth. If God was merciful, why did I suffer within my own mental hell? If He was real, wouldn't He take my anguish away?

 

I stopped going to church with my parents and turned my back on all I was taught throughout my childhood. If God was real, then I hated Him for torturing me. If He wasn't real, I was angry for being fooled into believing in Him. One way or another, I turned my back on God.

 

During my recovery process I joined a Bible group at a friend's church. I slowly began to see how God played a role in my life while I was ill. I began to realize that even though I turned my back on Him, He never turned his back on me.

 

He was there doing little things in my life that I could not see. I took a handful of pills, became dizzy, and drove to college in a snow storm with no idea how I got there safely. During my recovery, I suddenly could see, God got me to college safely. He wanted me to live.

 

God gave me my mother who fought to find me help, my grandparents who spoiled me with their love while I lived with them and a friend at college who listened and encouraged me. God also brought me a therapist who helped me reach recovery for five years. For five years I lived the life I always wanted to: I hung out with friends, stayed out till early morning, and enjoyed life.

 

It wasn't until I reached recovery and my friend, Kelly, helped me find God, that I realized He was at my side the whole time. Even though I turned my back on God, He never turned his back on me. He placed people in my life to help me through the darkness, and he kept me alive when I tried to end my life. I learned, during the rough time, to look for the little signs in my life that show me God is still at my side.

DREADED MEDICATION

During my second bout of depression, I was told I would have to take antidepressants for the rest of my life. I cringed. Medication for life! You mean I can't live without it? Who wants to pop pills for the rest of his or her life? I sure didn't. Why couldn't I find happiness and a stable life without it? Wasn't there another way?

I soon learned there was no way around antidepressants. With medication, I would function better, I would be more stable, and I would be able to find happiness. The one thing they didn't tell me is that it's not easy finding the medication which works best for you. It's a trial and error process.

My doctor gave me a prescription for an antidepressant, and a week later I called him up crying that my depression had worsened. So I went in to be asked a few questions and was handed another prescription, but this time I couldn't stay awake. I needed to take frequent naps though out the day. I returned to his office to be prescribed yet another medication only to have a bad reaction.

Why did I continue to put myself through this torture? Wasn't there an easier way? Was this worth it? Would I ever get better? Was there a medication that would work for me?

I continued to try medications because I wanted to live a normal life, I wanted to be happy, and I wanted to be able to function. I wanted a life in the light. I was determined to do whatever it took to reach recovery.

In time, I found the antidepressant that made finding the light easier, the one medicine which brought me relief from some of the symptoms of my illness.

Medication doesn't completely take away your mental illness. Hard work in therapy combined with medication lifts you out of the hole. I went to therapy two times a week and took my medication each day as instructed. In time, I was, and still am, dancing in the light.

An antidepressant helped make the symptoms of my illness more manageable, and therapy helped me learn to change my pattern of thinking. The combination has made me a healthier and happier person. I am living a happy life with a wonderful husband. Sometimes the symptoms of my depression show their ugly head, but with my new found strength I can handle them with pride. I now go to therapy once a month and of course I take my pills daily.

WHAT IS IN THE FUTURE?

I've mentioned many times how the mind can play tricks on us when we are sick. Sometimes it happens even though we are well, but when we're sick the mind becomes more troubled. We all at times think the worst before it actually happens or think we know what someone else is thinking when we don't. When we begin to do this more frequently and it leads to anxiety and stress, then it's a problem.

My mind did this frequently while I was sick. My friend didn't call. She hates me. She doesn't want to be my friend anymore. Now I'm going to be all alone all over again. She thinks I'm a worthless person. I can't even keep friends. My muscles tensed as tears slid down my face. I curled up in a corner and cried until my friend finally called. I couldn't see that maybe there was a good reason for why my friend didn't call on time. When she did call, she told me she had family over and didn't have a chance to call earlier.

If that wasn't bad enough, I started seeing my future as an endless pit. I even did this during my surgery. I am going to be in a lot of pain. I'll be stuck on crutches for two weeks. I will be unable to leave my house and we will be too broke to pay for my medication. My surgery will be awful and I will suffer. In the end, I was only on crutches for a couple days, I could afford my pain medication, and the pain wasn't that bad.

This type of thinking is called jumping to conclusions. It has two parts, mind reading and fortune teller. You can find this cognitive distortion in David D. Burns, M.D.'s book, Feeling Good The New Mood Therapy. Minding reading is where you predict what others are thinking. Fortune teller is where you predict the future before it happens.

In therapy I learned to look at the reason why a friend didn't call on time. The friend could have been busy, an unexpected guest could have shown up, her phone may not been working, or she may have forgotten. Most importantly, I learned to be patient and to take a deep breath. Sometimes I still fall back into my pattern and I have to remind myself to list the possible reasons for why a friend or family member didn't call or arrive when they said they would.

When I predict the future, I have to remind myself no one can tell what's going to happen. I must take each day as it comes. I have to tell myself to stop and wait and see what life brings me.

With hard work, you can take control of jumping to conclusions and fight them each time they occur. I remind myself there isn't always a negative side to the future, and I can't predict what others think.

Is There An Off Switch?

The mind, when it is sick, can be your worst enemy. Even during your recovery, the mind plays games with you. Unfortunately, there is no cure to mental illness and there will always be times you struggle, but it's how you handle the struggle that counts. I began a new battle with my mind and anxiety as soon as I found out I was going to have foot surgery. It started out with small concerns. Do I have vacation weeks to use? If not how, can we afford to have me out of work? Then the worries grew and became obsessive.

 

My mind went on an endless track of worry. What if I get sick and can't have surgery? What if I can't do the stairs at my home? I have a week's vacation and four days; what if we don't have enough money to pay bills? What if we can't make our mortgage? What if I can't pay for the pain medication? Who's going to help me while my husband is at work? What if I can't use the crutches? What if I fall and hurt myself more, then have to be hospitalized?

 

The worries grew bigger and bigger as the weeks narrowed until my surgery. My anxiety attacks increased, I struggled to sleep, and my muscles tensed. I found myself over the toilet several times.

 

Would I be able to handle the pain? Will I cause more physical problems by hopping around on crutches? Will I get sick, lose my vacation time, and wait longer for surgery? Will we go broke? Will we have enough money to eat?

 

I magnified my worries to the point that I made myself sick. They haunted me day and night. If I had a switch to turn them off, I would have used it, but instead I turned to my support system. My friend reminded me that I was making my surgery into a bigger deal then it was, and my husband had me think about the positive side to my surgery.

 

Once the surgery was over, I would no longer be suffering with the continuous pain I have dealt with for months. I could finally get rid of the air cast boot I've worn for almost four months. I could pay some bills ahead of time so when I got the four day vacation check we would be okay. By fighting my worries and reminding myself of the positive outcome of my surgery, I was able to relieve some of the worrying.

 

My surgery turned out not as bad as I first thought. I only had to use the crutches for a few days, the pain wasn't as bad, and I was able to pay some bills in advance so that we were fine financially. A friend came to town to help me out while my husband was at work and within a week I was able to start walking around home without a boot.

 

It's hard to see the positive when your worries take over, but by the help of my support system I was able to point them out and get through surgery without a major anxiety attack. In the end I now see all my worries were for nothing.

THE FIRE

After becoming a part of an abusive relationship with a man, I was hospitalized. During my hospitalization, I was diagnosed with another illness: Borderline Personality Disorder. Suddenly my life made sense. I was able to put a name to the intense feelings that ripped so destructively throughout me: Feelings of fear, anger, anxiety and hopelessness tore at me. I learned that my maddening rages were emotional episodes.

 

Borderline is a fire burning at the insides of my soul. It starts out small and grows as my emotions becomes like gasoline fueling it into an inferno. I tear apart the people I love, I scream, and I throw things and cry like a child having a temper-tantrum. Once the fire dies down, I look at the ashes of my life, and I apologize as guilt fills my body. I tear at my flesh to release my inner pain.

 

When the fire is blazing I put down the people I love the most, I misinterpret what people say and the only problems I can see are my own. The fire can last a few minutes or an entire day.

 

I develop an attachment to my friends and put them up on a pedestal. I begin to expect too much and overstep my boundaries. When a friend proves to be untrustworthy and untrue, I hold on to her fearing abandonment. This has led me to abusive relationships that ended badly. I sometimes push friends away, fearing I will be hurt.

 

My dear friend, Cheryl, named my illness “The Bad Bug Guy” and she is right. It is evil and bad in every sense of the word. One minute I can be fine, the next I'm irritable and cannot be touched. Then suddenly I'm in an emotional episode.

 

Giving my illness a name helped me separate my sickness from the person I am. I learned Borderline did not define me as a person. I am a person just like anyone else afflicted with a sickness just like cancer.

 

With the help of my therapist and medication, I have taken control of my Borderline Personality Disorder. I sometimes struggle with symptoms of my illness, but I am able to handle them with the help of my husband, friends, and therapist. Mental illness never completely goes away, but I can stand tall knowing it does not control me, but I am now in control. Recovery is hard to reach, and it is a struggle, but it is possible.

 

I may miss a week or two of blogs due to surgery.

SUPPORT SYSTEM

Often, during my illness, I felt alone. I thought if I told people what was happening within me, they would think I was crazy or they wouldn't understand. I felt as if my illness was a burden I had to carry on my own. I figured if I told my parents or friends, then they would turn away from me. So I put on a smile and acted as if nothing was wrong when I was dying inside.

 

It wasn't until I could no longer hold the pain within me I told my mother I was sick. Instead of turning away, she went out of her way to find me help. I realized internalizing my pain only caused me more pain. When I turned to my Mom, a big burden was lifted off my shoulders. I was no longer alone.

 

In later years, when I fell back into darkness, I found a good friend to lean on. When I sat alone at night contemplating taking my life, I called her up. She talked to me for hours until she had me laughing. I could call her any time, day or night. She had a way of talking me out of hurting myself or doing something I would regret. When I was really upset, she knew how to calm me down. She was the voice of reason when I could not think of any way out of my inner hell.

 

After she moved away, I turned to friends at work. Some did not understand, but I found a few who were willing to listen and give support and advice. These friends helped me through some trying times. Just knowing I had people who cared, gave me hope. Having others to support me gave me a reason to fight to reach recovery.

 

Building a support system can be difficult. I'm lucky to have understanding parents and friends. I know some people do not have these. Trusting a friend enough to tell her them about your illness is hard. It was hard for me. I thought people would reject me and a few friends did, but the true friends stood beside me.

 

I found my support system within my family, friends, and people I work with. Look around you. Who do you feel the closest to, who seems to always listen when you have a problem, and who do you trust the most? Support groups can also be supportive. I was in a support group for self-injury and became close friends with one of the members. Going to a support group gave me a chance to talk to others who are going through the same thing.

 

My support system was an essential part of my road to recovery and continues to be important to me as I fight to stay in the light.

WHO'S JUDGING

Many of us suffering from mental illness hide it and avoid help because we fear of being judged. Prejudice exists all around us. When I was hospitalized, people commented, “I heard you were in the loony bin.” When others found out I was a self-injurer, they wondered if they should watch me around knives and asked if I liked pain. When I got a paper cut, they asked me if I did it on purpose.

 

When over there's a brutal murder or shooting the news puts emphasis on the criminal's mental illness. I was once told I was a danger to the people around me because I had a history of mental illness. The only person I have ever hurt is myself. The truth is, the majority of those who suffer with mental illness are not violent. They are only a danger to themselves.

 

Despite the prejudice that lingers around mental illness, I learned to stand above it. I believe I can educate others by being an example, by living my life to the fullest despite my illness, and by educating people through my writing. I'm no longer afraid to tell people I have an illness. I tell them with pride.

 

I have an illness, just like cancer or multiple sclerosis. It's one that cannot be seen, but it's real. It's hard to understand a sickness of the mind. The mind is complicated. Persons who are sick may look normal while inside they are falling apart. Many did not know I was ill until I was hospitalized and a so-called friend spread the word.

 

I went many years in silence about my illness because I feared no one would understand. I learned that hiding my feelings only led to deeper sadness. By sharing, I found people who were willing to learn about my sickness, and I found people who were also going through the same thing as I was.

 

Because I decided to get help, I am living a good life. I still struggle with symptoms, but I am able to manage them. Many people with mental illness live normal lives. Some are doctors, some are teachers, some are bus drivers, and I happen to be a cashier.

 

We are normal people who happen to have an illness. We can stand up to prejudice by getting help, reaching recovery, and sharing our stories. I'm sharing my story through this blog not only to help others, but also to educate others.

SYMPTOMS OF DEPRESSION

When I started seeing a therapist for depression, I was given a list of symptoms which I had to check off. Not everyone has all the symptoms, but when you have several of them and they are persistent, you must seek help.

 

Here are the signs or symptoms of depression:

• Sleep too much or can't sleep (I couldn't sleep)
• Have a hard time concentrating or finding easy tasks hard (I found easy stuff as a challenge)
• Feelings of hopelessness and helplessness (I felt hopeless)
• Negative thoughts out of control (I couldn't stop my negative thoughts, no matter how hard I tried)
• Loss of appetite or eating too much (I had little interest in food.)
• More irritable, short-tempered or aggressive than usual (I was irritable and shot-tempered)
• Drink more alcohol then usual or become involved in other reckless behavior
• Thoughts of taking your life (I felt my life was useless and I'd be better off dead.) If you have this feeling, seek help right away!
• Unexplained aches and pains (Not only did my soul ache, but my body ached.)

If you have several of these symptoms seek help. It's these symptoms that make you feel like you fell down the hole of darkness.

 

If you don't have insurance, look for places with a sliding fee and places that are state funded. When I was in college, I found a place which provided therapy and a psychiatrist with a sliding fee. They also helped me find programs to get my medication for free.

 

With medication and therapy, you can also dance in the light like I have and am doing. Without help your depression could become worse. No one should spend their life in darkness when reaching the light is possible.

 

I found these symptoms at www.helpguide.org and you can also find them at Anxiety and Depression Association (the website can be found on the sidebar of my blog). There is also advice on these sites on how to find help.

A WINNER OR A FAILURE

When The mind is plagued with darkness thoughts become distorted. In college, when I got a lower than normal grade on a test my heart plummeted. I automatically thought I was a failure. When I got a good grade I felt like a winner. There was no in between.

When I received my low grade, tears threaten to spill and my chest tightened. “I'm a looser”, sang through my mind. “They were right about me in high school; I'm a retard. I don't belong in college.” The more my negative thoughts filled my mind the further down the whole I fell.

When I was unable to get the degree I wanted in college (due to my learning disability) and I became a cashier instead of going on to a four year college, I once again thought I was a failure. Even though I worked hard to prove myself in high school and then in college, I couldn't even get a communication degree. Instead of going on to a four year college, all I could do was work in a grocery store. I was sure I failed. I believed I proved everyone right; I was a retard who couldn't do anything right.

I learned in therapy that this type of thinking was

“all-or-nothing thinking.” The book Feeling Good The New Mood Therapy by David D. Burns, M.D. describes it as seeing everything as black or white--shades of gray do not exist. In other words, I saw myself either as a winner or a failure. I couldn't see the other good things in my life; like I graduated from college, I had stories published, and I was working a job despite my illness.

My therapist taught me I didn't need a high paying job, or a degree in communications to be successful. I learned not everything goes the way I plan and that does not make me a failure, but human. I realized I didn't need to be perfect to still be a winner.

In life there are gray periods where we don't always come out on top. We are not always perfect. It took me a while to believe this.

I no longer have to prove myself, because I already have. No one in high school believed I'd even make it to college, let alone get a degree and I have a associate degree in Humanities. Someone once told me because I have a mental illness, I couldn't work and yet I have been working the same job for 19 years.

Sometimes I still fall into the all-or-nothing thinking, but I have a wonderful husband who reminds me I don't have to be perfect to be a winner. I now know there is a gray spot in our lives, but it is only a part of life.

ON EDGE

Anxiety comes in different forms for people. Some can't breathe; some feel like they are having a heart attack. Some have tightening of muscles, some become dizzy and some get cold or sweaty hands and/or feet.

For me, it comes like a rare flu I can't get rid of. I become nauseated, I dry heave and sometimes I'm over the toilet.

I first experienced this anxiety attack in college while I was being abused by a friend. I woke up each morning feeling sick, I could hardly keep food down and during the day I would dry heave. Sometimes I'd dry heave until I got sick. I'd be fine one minute and sick the next. A doctor gave me anti-nausea medication and it did little to ease my stomach.

When the abuse ended the anxiety attacks went away for several years. They came back suddenly, without warning. My life was going well. I had married a wonderful man, I worked at a good job, and I had been in recovery from my mental illness for several years.

I had a doctor run several tests to rule out health problems. I couldn't believe I was having anxiety attacks at such a good time in my life. The doctor found that I was healthy and he put me on xanax. The nausea went away as long as I remember to take my medication.

In therapy I was able to point out different things in my life that caused stress: things like worrying about finances, work, taking care of my home and health problems. My therapist and I started working on ways to take control of my worries and to relax. My husband's Uncle Richard Gross, a clinical psychilogist, gave me a relaxation tape which helped calm my nerves.

My psychiatrist told me many people with depression have anxiety. He said the illnesses are different and they were not the result of having one or the other. It's just one of those things that seem to go together.

With the help of medication, relaxation techniques, and therapy, I keep my anxiety attacks under control. There are times they get the best of me, but I know I can stand up to them. I have a wonderful husband who reminds me when I'm worrying too much. It helps to have a friend or family member to share my problems with. Having someone to remind me to relax or to help me calm down is important.

ONE CHOICE OR ANOTHER

Should I buy those shoes? What if they hurt my feet? Do I have enough money? Will I go broke buying them? I need new shoes, but what if I get the wrong ones? Maybe I should get a different pair. What happens if those are uncomfortable? Which ones should I get?

My chest tightens as my mind whirls with confusion. My throat throbs as if someone shoved their fist down it. Tears threaten to spill as I hold back a scream. I can't screw this up. I don't want to fail again. This simple determination becomes over whelming.

Decision making can be hard for anyone, but even harder when your mind is plagued with sadness and negativity. Making choices seems impossible. During college and in later years while the darkness filled me making choices consumed me. My mind raced as I went over what could happen if I made the wrong choice. I saw myself making a mistake I would regret. Buying shoes may have begun as a small determination, but within minutes it grew. It kept getting bigger and bigger as if it was life or death. One mistake and my world would end.

The wrong shoes could hurt my feet. If I wear them the store may not let me return them and I'd be stuck with them. Then I would have wasted my money on something I couldn't use. I'd once again screw everything up. I can't do anything right, not even buy shoes. I'm worthless. I have to make the right choice. If I don't I won't be able to sleep and I won't be able to think straight. I wish someone else could decide for me.

My therapist gave me a list of cognitive distortions such as all—or-nothing thinking, overgeneralization, mental filter and jumping to conclusions. I read magnification. Magnification is where you blow things out of portion. I realized I made my decision process bigger than it was because I feared I was a failure. I made buying shoes such a big deal because I didn't trust myself to do the right thing.

In therapy I learned to trust in my ability to do the right thing and to change my thinking. I also learned to believe that I could make choices without becoming a failure. At times I fall back into magnifying my decisions, but I remind myself I am capable of doing many things right and once in a while we are allowed to make mistakes. Making a mistake doesn't make me a failure, but only human.

JUST ONE CUT

  When the pain within me became unbearable I looked for ways to find relief. Emotions ripped at my insides, they weakened me and I needed a way to ease them for even just a few moments. I felt this way in college and years later as an adult. I turned to cutting myself in order to find relief. It was temporary, but it gave me an escape from my inner hell.

  When self-hate, anger, frustration and anguish burned within me I tore at my flesh. Just one cut and I was free. I couldn't feel anything, not even the sting of my wound. I floated above my body, staring down at the sad mess. Then I plummeted back into my body. Tears streamed down my face, the pain returned. I felt the sting of my wound and I began to regret it.

  Thoughts flooded my mind. What have I done? How can I hide the cut? How would I explain my wound if someone saw it? I sat alone in my room, where I always injured, once again overwhelmed by emotions.

  

  Injuring became an addiction just like drugs.

 

  I needed to hurt myself to ease my pain. I tried different methods such as burning myself and punching a wall till my fist turned black and blue. Cutting gave me the most relief.

  

  It became a craving. When the negative thoughts rushed into my mind and my feelings burned within me I suddenly needed physical pain and I had to cut. I fixated on it and planned to cut when I was alone. I never hurt myself in public places. I couldn't let anyone find out what I was doing. No one would understand. It had to be my secret.

 

  I started therapy and began to discuss my addiction. A friend told me about the book The Scarred Soul by Tracy Alderman, Ph.D. I stared doing the exercises in the book. The book and therapy gave me alternatives to self-injuring such as journaling, developing a support system, not spending a lot of time in the place I hurt myself and reminding myself of the negative effects injuring had on my life.

  

  A friend gave me a goal of going a year without cutting. Having a goal gave me the willpower to fight my urges.

 

  Now I have gone 12 years without injuring. At times It crosses my mind, but I remind myself I am much stronger than the urges and have other alternatives.

FINDING HELP

I keep grasping at the vines of life. I pull myself up, but the vine breaks and I fall. Thoughts of giving up fill my mind. Will the light ever shine or will I lay on the bottom forever? Is there a way out of the hole. Will my life be filled with darkness forever?

I asked myself these questions over and over again. In college I believed I could never reach the light. I told no one of my inner anguish. The loneliness grew deep within me. The pain built up within me until I broke down and told my mother what was happening.

My mother was determined to find me help.

In therapy I was given a chart. One side had negative thoughts and the other had positive thoughts. I had to fill out the chart each time I had a negative thought. On one side I put I'm an worthless, piece of trash and on the other side I wrote I am a smart and wonderful person. Finding something good was a struggle especially since I spent most of my life believing I was no good and saw the bad side to everything. How could I change my thinking process?

A long with therapy I was put on antidepressants. Finding the medication that worked for me was not easy. One made me tired and another caused my depression to worsen. Despite the effects, I kept trying new ones until one finally gave me relief.

Talking to a therapist took time. I had to learn to trust my therapist with my deepest secrets. I needed to tell them what was happening within me. The stuff I told no one. At first I hardly talked. After several visits I finally let all out and I suddenly felt as if a burden was lifted from my soul.

When I took a year off from school, I started a job at a grocery store. I made new friends and my life turned around. I was suddenly given a second chance. I started staying out late with friends, sleeping over at my friends home and living the life I didn't have when I was in high school. With the help of therapy, I developed a new view of my life and myself. I finally reached the light and I danced in it.

The light may not always shine. You may fall again, you may have bouts of depression and thinking positive could become a struggle at times. I fell again, years later. I went a period of five years without therapy. When I did fall again I knew to get help once again. I remembered the light and fought again to find it. I reached it and I now live within it.

NO WAY OUT

When depression clouds the mind, finding away out seems impossible. You loose hope and begin to believe the only way to end your pain is to die. Death seems logical and like the only answer.

During my first year of college, I began to plan my suicide. If I were gone, there would no longer be any suffering from endless darkness and overpowering thoughts. I would finally be free of internal agony. I believed my death would not only bring relief to me, but also to my family. In my eyes, I was a burden to everyone around me. My illness was not only destroying my life, but to me, it was ruining my parents, grandparents, siblings and friends lives.

My thoughts were blurred by hopelessness and deep sadness. I planned what would go on my gravestone and the many ways I'd take my life - like driving my car into a semi, overdosing on pills and sliting my wrist. I even imagined my family standing around my coffin with smiles. Suicide, to me, seemed like the right thing to do.

I couldn't live with the pain that burned within me. What future stood before me? One where I lived in a dark hole, one where I cried easily and one where I could not find joy. This was not the type of life for me. Desperation to end my life filled me. Just one slice of my wrist and it would all be over.

I kept slipping further into my hole. Self-hatred and negativity ate at my insides. I stared up at the ceiling of my bedroom at night fighting racing thoughts. My chest tighten and my throat throbbed with a need to scream. I have to end this. No one will miss me. The pain has to end. I can't go on. It's to hard to live. God, why can't you just take me now. I took a bottle of pills and became dizzy and nauseated. I laid in bed wondering why I had done such a stupid thing.

What I couldn't see was how badly my death would have hurt my family. With help there was a way out of my pain. In therapy, I learned suicide is not the way out of inner pain. I realized with help I could climb out of the hole, but if I took my life I'd never get the chance to find joy.

It took me time to realize how precious life is. With therapy, medication and a support system of friends and family I found what it is like to have happiness. I realized if I had succeeded in taking my own life I would have missed out on a lot of wonderful things like the birth of my many nieces an nephews and finding my soul mate. I now know life is worth living.

The Dark Hole

The hole of depression is deep and endless. Darkness blankets the soul. Climbing up the walls seems hopeless at least it did for me during my senior year of high school and first year of college. I tried to pull myself up, but I kept falling down. I grasped on to the vines of life, family, friendships and college, but they became slippery and I tumbled to the bottom.

At night my thoughts raced. I wish I was dead. I'm an awful person. Everyone's right, I'm stupid. I hate myself. I'm a good for nothing piece of trash. In the morning the thoughts continued. I struggled to get out of bed and stay awake in class. I injured to release the pain of my emotions.

I became a victim of a abusive friendship. She put me down and took advantage of my weakness. Yet I held on to her tightly. I thought she could help me find away out of the hole, but she only pushed me down further. I forgot what it was like to dance in the light. I cried easily and began to plan my death.

Being dead seemed better then dwelling in a hole of despair, anguish and hopeless. If I was dead, I would no longer be a burden to my family and friends. The torment of my emotions would be gone. I swallowed a half bottle of pills and became very sick. I became dizzy, nauseated and disorientated. I lived with my Grandparents during my first year of college and I told them I had the flu and spent a day or two in bed.

I couldn't tell my Grandparents how bad I felt, I couldn't even tell my parents. I didn't even understand what I was going through. When I read a pamphlet, I found at college, on depression I then knew I was sick and there was away out.

No matter how dark, or how far you fall down the hole there is away out. With the help of therapy, a support system and medication you can climb to the top. It took me along time to find the light, but with determination I found it.

Through therapy I learned to find positive things about my life. I started out small like noticing the sun shinning, realizing I had family who loved me and being grateful that I had a home. Then I learned to change my negative thoughts like my life is hopeless into positive such as I have a bright future a head of me. I used a journal to write positive stuff about my life each day. This was a very difficult task, but I kept at it. Medication helped make the process of changing my prospective easier.

I fought and pushed on against all odds to dance in the light of happiness. There were set backs, but I didn't give up and I reached the top.

THERE ARE NO BOUNDARIES

Mental illness etched its dark fingers into my soul at a young age. The earliest I remember the sadness creeping in was first grade when my teacher asked if I was stupid because I couldn't read. Since learning came to me slowly, due to my learning disability, my classmates labeled me retarded and my teachers assigned other students to give me answers on tests. It wasn't long until feelings of worthlessness plagued my mind. Sleep became a struggle and sadness engulfed me. I couldn't explain my intense emotions. At home little things set me off into episodes of anger. I'd throw things, scream and cry.

I kept my feelings to myself, unable to explain to my mother or anyone else how bad I felt inside. Everyday at school I was put down and began to believe what they were saying was true. My mind raced and self-hate filled me. Inside I screamed in agony, but on the outside I seemed like a normal kid.

This inner pain came slowly and increased as my school years progressed. By the time I reached high school I stopped talking unless I had to. The episodes increased and my mind raced with negativity. In seventh grade I spent long endless hours studying to prove I wasn't stupid, but I found little interest in fun things. When my brother and sisters were riding bike or playing games, I was studying. When we went on family vacations I fought to hide the darkness gnawing at my insides. My grades soared, but my soul fell into a dark hole.

In eighth grade my Uncle was run over and killed by a drunk driver. I fell further into the hole. I thought I was having a nervous break down. Tears fell for no reason, I had little energy and sleeping became even more difficult. Overwhelming feelings I could not explain engulfed me. Deep sadness, self-hate, hopelessness, worthlessness, anger and frustration filled me.

When my cousin was killed in my senior year of high school I fell to the bottom of the hole. In the darkness feelings of lonilness seeped into my soul. No matter how hard I struggled I couldn't climb out.

Mental illness doesn't know any boundaries. It doesn't pick age or race. It comes without warning and it knows no mercy. With counseling and medication a person with this illness can find relief.