Tightly hugging myself to try to stop the uncontrollable shivering and shaking, I stared across the desk in the windowless bare room. The person on the other side of the desk was shooting rapid fire questions at me in a flat tone of voice as she noted my answers on the writing pad in front of her. The majority of my thoughts centered on how she was trying to trick me during this interrogation. Yet, in the back of my mind I knew where I was, and why. But how? How did I end up here?
The where on that Friday evening almost five years ago was
the intake area of a private, mental hospital.
The why was to get help, help because I knew I was in a situation I
couldn’t fix myself. I was manic,
anxious, paranoid and battling psychosis.
The how is what I was struggling to grasp. I was a wife, a mom, a Girl Scout leader, on
staff at a church, I preached in a women’s prison (a prison featured on a cable
TV show for some of the rough inmates) and volunteered in many community
activities. Part of me thought those things
would exempt me from something like this.
I shouldn’t be here; people like me don’t belong in places like
this. Yet, I was here, and I was
admitted to the inpatient locked ward.
As the oldest of eight children I was always very
independent. I was also adventure
loving. Unfortunately, I also had
somehow gotten who I was, mixed up with what I did. And since I based who I was on what I did, I
did lots. I went to missionary training
school and worked in a church. I was
self-sufficient and confident in what I was doing. Though during my teen years I noticed a
pattern of what everyone around me called “adrenaline junkie” behaviors then
times of deep depression. I managed to
mask the depression, though I wrote out my first will at age 19 because I truly
believed I would die young. I knew this
wasn’t “normal” and as it got worse, I tried harder to hide it. Eventually the inner turmoil was too hard to
hide and I turned to substances to self-medicate. That went on for many years until I realized
that they were beginning to control me instead of me using them to control
myself. During this time I also ended up
in the ER from an overdose. My husband
and I were having issues and I thought my children and everyone I knew would be
better off without me. But mostly I just
wanted to sleep, sleep until it all went away.
No matter how long that type of sleep took. There was a second incident as well, but it
didn’t result in medical assistance. I
still didn’t realize there was a mental health issue, instead thinking that it
was probably from the substance use. I
joined Celebrate Recovery to make those changes. But without self-medicating the original
issues resurfaced, even more so. After
some doctor visits I was diagnosed with bipolar 1 and started on the long road
of finding the right medication mix and steps to stability. These steps include talk therapy, dietary
changes, sleep changes, mood tracking, exercise and education.
One of the most difficult parts is the stigma. Much of it was self-induced stigma and having
to realize that I am not a label or a diagnosis. And stigma is not only what people think, but
what they say. Christians who wouldn’t
think to tell someone with a broken arm not to use a cast, had no problems
saying someone with a mental disorder should stop medications and rely on
faith. There is still a big disconnect
with mental issues and the faith connection.
I later went abruptly off my medications and three years after the
initial diagnosis is where this story began, in the intake room of the
hospital. There I was diagnosed with not
only bipolar 1, rapid cycling, with psychosis but also a soft diagnosis of schizoaffective
disorder. My time in there was of much self-evaluation
and beginning to realize that my worth wasn’t based on what I do, or don’t
do. Though I watched people being abandoned
by those that they thought loved them. I
became fearful that my husband wouldn’t be able to accept the “new” me when I
was released. But instead he showered me
with love and proved that he would be there for me during my recovery.
Knowing how self-reliant I tend to be, I now consider
this to be my “thorn in the flesh” that keeps me dependent on the Lord. When I start to take on too much or feel
like “I got this” it reminds me that I am only where I am today because of
Jesus Christ, my Savior, my Healer and my Redeemer.
Today I’m enjoying my third year of being in what is
considered remission. We had a new start
and moved to a new state, new friends, new church, and new career. Last year my teenage daughter started dealing
with mental health issues of her own and during that time I realized how alone
I felt as a parent dealing with this. I
wasn’t sure who to talk to or where to turn.
After reading Amy Simpson’s book, Troubled
Minds: Mental Illness and the Church’s Mission, and realizing that with one
in four people being diagnosed with a mental illness I was far from alone, so I
went to our church to discuss the need for a support group for those affected
by mental illness. I was given the go
ahead and now help facilitate a support group for anyone affected by mental
illness, whether themselves, a friend or family member.
The verses that I most rely on are:
Deuteronomy
30:19 (NLT), "Today I have given you the
choice between life and death, between blessings and curses. Now I call on
heaven and earth to witness the choice you make. Oh, that you would choose
life, so that you and your descendants might live!” This
verse reminds me no matter what is happening, that I have a choice to make, and
by choosing life, my descendants might live and I will receive blessings.
2 Timothy 1:7 (KJV), “For God hath not given us the spirit
of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.” The
anxiety and fear are not from God. This
reminds me when I’m fearful to call out to Christ to cover me in the spirit of
power, love and a sound mind.
2 Timothy 4:7 (KJV), “I have fought a good fight, I have
finished my course, I have kept
the faith.” This reminds me to never give up, to finish
the course of life that God has given me and to keep my faith, no matter what
my feelings may be trying to tell me.
When I stand before my Creator I want Him to greet me with, “Congratulations,
you finished the course I set before you.”
A huge part of me wants to hide this part of my
past. I’m in a career that I like and
not sure how a disclosure might affect it.
I have friends that I don’t know how they will react. I’m enjoying the stability of remission. Why rock the boat? Why expose this part of me? Why risk it?
The bigger question though is why not?
God has blessed me and when the media only exposes the worst case
scenarios of mental illness, people feel stigma and shame. Shame is different than guilt and is not from
God. Writing this is my way to renounce
the shame and help reduce the stigma.
You are not alone and a diagnosis is not WHO you are and it is not the
end of your life. Psalm 30:5 (KJV), “Weeping may endure
for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.”
Please don’t hide alone, fearful and
scared to reach out for help. You are
loved by your Creator, the Comforter, and there are people who understand and
can help.
