Mental Wellness

Today marks the last day of May and my final post for Mental Health Awareness Month. Do not let this stop you from reading or discovering more about mental illnesses, though – or rather, mental wellness, as I heard someone say this month. Because that’s what we’re striving towards. And I think today’s link makes that point.

Too often, when someone asks us how we are, our conditioned response is, “I’m fine.” Even when we’re not. Especially when we’re not. But what if we were honest with ourselves? What if we were honest with others? What if we opened up to those we trusted and let others help us heal? It’s not easy, but worth it.

Don’t read over what follows: if you or someone you know is struggling with depression or mental stress, text ‘Start’ to the Crisis Text Line at 741-741. It’s free and confidential; and someone is available to talk to you 24/7. You can visit their website www.crisistextline.org for more information. You can also call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (800-273-8255) or National Alliance on Mental Illness (800-950-6264) for support and local referrals.

What I Would Say If I Was Honest About My Depression

By Fraser Speaks

I’m not OK.

I wish I could tell you this. I want to so many times. When you ask how I am.

I’m not OK.

Is what I want to say.

Instead I nod my head. Usually just one confident nod. Sometimes I’ll nod a few times. For security.

Tilt it slightly to the left.

Make sure my smile is big but not too big.

I am so good!

And then I immediately segue into talking about you. Asking how you are. What you have been up to. Steering as far away from the subject of me as I can get us. See how good I am at it? I amaze myself sometimes with how good of an actress I can be.

I feel myself dying a little bit more on the inside. Angry that I let another opportunity come and go. Another opportunity to open my mind up, just a little, and let some of the creatures out.

But I don’t. I can’t. I want to. I want to so badly. But I can’t.

Because here’s the thing: I was fine the day before. I was fine the week before. I’ve been fine for a whole month before!

Before it came back. Because it always does. It tricks me. But it tricks you more.

You see how good I have been. Maybe I was even great. Amazing. Fantastic. And I want you to know I really was. But you, like so many others, were tricked into thinking maybe it wouldn’t come back. That sense I had been doing so well. I’d been so happy. That I could do this.

You’re not the only one though. It got me too. Except, deep down, I always knew the truth. I knew it would eventually be back. It always comes back.

And so I can’t tell you. I like feeling as though someone is proud of me. I like seeing and hearing something other than concern when someone asks how I’m doing. As long as I don’t say it aloud.

I’m sick.

Then I can pretend for a little while longer that I am OK.

So I can’t tell you. I don’t want all of that to disappear yet.

Even though I need you. The longer I continue treading water, trying to keep a smile showing above the water, the more detached I become. Not just from you. From everything. Family. Friends. Strangers. The world.

The longer I keep news of this unwanted trespasser to myself, the harder it becomes for me to get away from it. The harder it becomes for me to kick it out of my house. Out of my mind. The harder it becomes for me to defend myself from his advances. Eventually I will become too tired. And I’ll let it take my innocence and spirit away. What’s left of it anyways.

My therapist says I need to open up to someone.

Who are your close friends? Maybe one of them?

My mind goes blank.

Who is your best friend?

I have turned into a mute. Unable to come up with an answer. Unable to say anything at all.

I tell him I don’t know anymore. I tell him I feel so removed from everyone I don’t think I have any. I tell him I don’t feel close to anyone.

He asks when the last time I felt like I had a best friend was. I tell him I don’t remember.

He tells me my mind is telling me all of these things. And I know this. I do. But I can’t shake the feelings and thoughts that have once again taken up residency in my already overcrowded mind. I don’t have the energy to evict them right now.

The loneliness. The sadness. The numbness. The fatigue. The overall melancholy that seems to hang over me at all times. So thick I sometimes I can actually see it. Hanging dense like fog. Hanging heavy on me like humidity in the summer when all you want is relief from the heat. It smothers you. Except this kind of humidity isn’t warm. It feels cold. It numbs me more instead of thawing me out.

I’m always cold. But I wake up at night sweating. My sheets damp from it. The side effects of my terrible, violent, excruciating dreams. So vivid I wake up screaming and crying more often than not. There are shapes lurking in the shadows, but the light is even more frightening. I can hear people whispering. And I know it’s about me.

I want to tell you this. I want to tell you that Saturday night I sat on the bathroom floor hugging my knees as tight as I could in an effort to keep myself from falling apart even more. I want to tell you about how badly my sobs scared me. How I found myself yelling in anguish. I want to tell you about the only way I was able to get any sort of relief from this. But I don’t want to scare you.

I want to tell you about the hand that roughly grabs my heart every time I decide to leave my house. I want to tell you about the dizziness that takes over. Sometimes just from walking across my room. The shortness and sharp intake of breath when this happens. I’m too tired for this.

I don’t want you to think of me as a burden. As another source of anxiety. Of worry. I don’t want you to pity me. I don’t want you to think of this as something to add to the list. The list of what’s wrong with me. I don’t want to pollute your happiness with my despair. I don’t want you to see me as something to be handled with care. Something fragile that could shatter if you talk too loudly.

Because I need you. I need you to remind me of how strong I am. I need you to be a place where I can rest. A bench to sit quietly on. To cry quietly on. Something to steady myself on so I don’t end up all the way on the ground.

I don’t need advice. I don’t need you to talk. I just need you to sit quietly with me. I just need you to sit next to me. To hold my hand. To help me up. I just need you there so that the loneliness and the sadness and the despair doesn’t drown me. I just need some help treading water for a little longer.

But I can’t tell you this. I can’t tell you because I am scared to admit it to myself yet. I need you to know my silence doesn’t mean I’m angry with you. I need you to know my awkward response doesn’t mean that I don’t want to talk. It means I don’t know how to talk. It means I don’t know how to connect my brain with my mouth and with my heart. I’ve forgotten how to.

And so I’ll whisper it onto this slate. Hoping it becomes lost among the rest of these thoughts.

I’m not OK.

* * *

To celebrate the release of my new book, Stay With Me, as well as commemorate Mental Health Awareness Month, I will be posting articles and links on the subject through the month of May. Please share this with your friends and family. And don’t forget to get a copy of my book. Go to https://ruthegriffin.com/home/bookshelf/stay-with-me/ for more information.

‪#‎mhm2016 ‪#‎MentalHealth ‪#‎MentalWellness ‪#‎StayWithMe

Suicide Attempts Are Rarely Rational

Because suicide attempts are rarely rational, your response, however sincere, should not be one of tired clichés or viral memes. Read the following article comes from bhHope, but I encourage you to go to the site to read the comments too. It’s always helpful to hear from those who have ‘been there and done that’, because they can help you help others.

If you or someone you know is struggling with depression, text ‘Start’ to the Crisis Text Line at 741-741. It’s free and confidential; and someone is available to talk to you 24/7. Visit their website at http://www.crisistextline.org for more information. You can also call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (800-273-8255) or NAMI (800-950-6264) for support and local referrals.

Bipolar Suicide Attempts Are Rarely Rational

It’s not helpful to tell someone in the grip of a bipolar episode not to make a permanent decision for a temporary problem.

“Don’t make a permanent decision for a temporary problem.” I get furious when I hear or read this anti-suicide catch-phrase of medical professionals. Partly because I am fairly certain the person uttering it doesn’t understand bipolar patients and their suicide threats or attempts. Partly because rational thinking is not a precursor to any suicide attempts that I know of among bipolar spectrum sufferers.

Maybe a bullied student might pause when hearing, “Don’t make a permanent decision for a temporary problem.” But as a person with bipolar II, when I have contemplated suicide it is when I am far beyond any rational thought. The roaring in my head has become a true tornado, yet my thoughts are not fast moving like during a manic episode. Everything I know swirls into an undecipherable mess. The only thing I know for sure is that I feel rage. Anger that is initially directed at the person who bullseyed one of my triggers, leads to heightened disgust with myself for being unable to prevent a bipolar II reaction. Next comes tsunami-sized frustration with the cycle that is my life. That is it. I am not envisioning loved ones. I don’t consciously want to hurt them. I just don’t even think of them — it is as though they do not exist.

The roar is the only existing thing.

David Foster Wallace has compared suicide attempts by some mentally ill patients to someone trapped in a burning high-rise: “It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames.” To borrow from Kay Redfield Jamison in “Night Falls Fast: Understanding Suicide” — “The future cannot be separated from the present, and the present is painful beyond solace.” I know during my mad confusions, I haven’t been able to latch on to upcoming celebrations and future milestones to flush suicidal urges. It is just current pain pushing me toward a dangerous action.

To cite suicidal impulses as responses to temporary problems trivializes most bipolar suicide attempts. The elephant in the room is that while we can have good lives full of love, as with any chronic disease there are near-constant worries about:

* our conditions worsening,

* the loss of friends who don’t understand,

* medication side effects,

* career implications,

* family members who get fed up with us,

* money problems related to treatment,

* etc., etc., etc.

Thanks to emotionally extreme episodes we have already experienced, we often find ourselves without a soul willing, or available, to hear about our latest crisis.

Because of the past, we feel certain we will come back to this dark place. Yet my suicidal thoughts seem to wham me to the ground with little warning. (Not to say that extreme depression doesn’t lay many people who are bipolar bare for long periods while suicidal thoughts flit about the corners of their consciousness. I just personally am more familiar with the rage-driven road to the emergency room.)

So, can we please have a new catchphrase aimed at preventing suicide attempts by people who are bipolar? One that doesn’t pretend we sit around making spreadsheets about life and death? Better yet, since stock phrases are rarely appreciated in the best of times (much less when your brain resembles a storm cloud), let us hope for continued advancements in understanding, medications, and other forms of treatment. Then maybe we can experience lives less fraught with the desperation that drives bipolar suicidal urges.

***********************************************************************

To celebrate the release of my new book, Stay With Me, as well as commemorate Mental Health Awareness Month, I will be posting articles and links on the subject through the month of May. Please share this with your friends and family. And don’t forget to get a copy of my book. Go to https://ruthegriffin.com/home/bookshelf/stay-with-me/ for more information.

‪#‎mhm2016‪#‎MentalHealth‪#‎StayWithMe‪#‎Autism