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.