Hello, I have always thought that sharing my story with the mental health community is important to bring hope to others that are just like me.

I’m a 37 year old divorced mother of two boys. I have been in therapy of some kind or another since I was 7 years old. Mental illness runs in my family as well as substance abuse addiction. I believe I was born with my many disorders that progressed and worsened as I got older, abused illegal drugs, prescribed medication and had my children. In my early childhood I showed all the many signs of OCD. I also grew up in an extremely chaotic family where my mother suffered terribly with her own mental illness that was never acknowledged or treated and an emotionally absent father. My two older siblings coped with this by using and abusing drugs and my older sister was put into rehab when I was seven. My older brother simply moved away and is still an addict today covering up his own mental health issues. My younger sister was extremely emotionally disturbed and would act out violently towards my parents but especially towards me. She would later become a drug addict for many years and thankfully entered recovery 4 ½ years ago.

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My father was a drug addict, paranoid schizophrenic, dealer and hoarder.

Growing up was traumatic to say the least, I ended up moving out at age 15.

Currently I am 28, a father to be, high school teacher and martial arts instructor.

My whole life I have been dealing with depression, anxiety and other mental health concerns.

I found that the best therapy came from writing my story, first in the form of poetry then in a book. Even if you only write for your self, please do it. It will help!

I was diagnosed with a mental illness at the age of 19. I am now 62. Not only have I suffered from mental illness I have struggled with the stigma of having mental illness for 43 years now.  I was diagnosed with acute depression, PTSD and bi-polar disorder and I became very much overwhelmed - alone, lost and hopeless. I was seriously contemplating suicide. Someone suggested that I investigate the services available at my local chapter of NAMI. 

I understand that I can never be completely cured of mental illness but with the help of the advocates at NAMI my ‘situation’ was stabilized and there is now hope in my life. In addition to the regular psychiatric care I I receive I attend weekly sessions with a ‘Life Coach’ from NAMI as a client of a program they administer called 'Self-Directed Care’. In addition to the one-on-one counseling I am offered specific goal-oriented financial assistance that helps me pay for my treatment and psychiatric medications and in developing and implementing a plan of action who’s goal is to make me self-sufficient and no longer dependent on the welfare system. 

Whether I eventually succeed or not is still in question and a lot depends on me, but the fact is that today I have a real chance to make a contribution to society instead of being a drain on it. Without NAMI I would be just another mental patient wandering without direction and chances are that I would continue to be in and out of inpatient psychiatric facilities - the perpetual 'revolving door’. Thanks to you and your support of NAMI and the great people there I now have a chance to live a healthier, happier, more productive life.  More of a blessing than a burden.  Thank you.  

My name is Caitlin and I’m 34 years old. I was first diagnosed with depression and anxiety when I was 19, but I’ve probably been struggling with anxiety for my whole life. I am writing this today after hearing others share their stories of recovery from mental illness and feeling inspired to do the same.

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Hello.  We all can live a great, purposeful life managing Bipolar Condition or any mental health situations. 

The social stigma of mental illness used to bother me to no end…and contribute to my problems!  I’m over that now, but I prefer to call it Bipolar Condition vs. “Disorder”.  I also prefer to discuss Mental Health vs. “Illness”.

My story in general: 

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            My name is Jennifer and I am a recovered mental illness survivor—

            I have endured severe mental illness for over half my life.  During that time, I suffered from clinical depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, schizoaffective disorder, and borderline personality disorder.

            Due to the depression, my behaviors ranged from excessive crying to excessive sleeping to suicide attempts.  I felt feelings of worthlessness, hopelessness, and helplessness.  All I thought I wanted to do was die.   But in fact, what I really wanted was help with overcoming my severe sadness.

            During my manic states, I endured impulsive, spontaneous, and irresponsible behaviors.  I felt on top of world.  I felt excessive amounts of energy.  I had racing thoughts.  I had delusions of grandeur.  I’ll be honest.  It felt great to be so high, but it is also very dangerous.  Risky behaviors can lead to much endangerment of self and others.

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I thought that I had accepted my mental illness long ago.  After all, I was taking medication and attending counseling after being hospitalized for months in a state psychiatric hospital.  Here I was an “advocate” for mental health but refused to disclose to anyone that I was suffering.  It wasn’t until I moved back to my hometown and got involved as a mental health advocate for NAMI that I realized what exactly accepting a mental health diagnosis meant.

Accepting meant that I was going to no longer stigmatize myself for being ill.  A condition, is a condition, is a condition.  I wouldn’t treat someone with diabetes any differently for being ill so why was I holding myself up to such a ridiculous standard?  Accepting meant that I was not afraid to stand in front of a group of 20 strangers and disclose what I thought was my biggest secret in order to educate the community.  For so long I wanted change to the system, change to mental health care.  The only way that change is going to happen is if we all accept our conditions and reduce the stigmatization.  Through acceptance and education comes change.

That change is exactly what I am seeing in myself and my community now.  After going through facilitator training for the NAMI Connection Recovery Support Group program I started a support group for adults with mental illness in my community.  I now sit on the advisory board for my mental health agency and my local NAMI affiliate as a mental health consumer.   I am no longer afraid to say that I have a mental illness and advocate for those who have not yet reached that stage in their recovery or are unable to advocate for themselves.  There is help and there is hope.

TO ANYONE WITH ANY MENTAL ILLNESS OF ANY AGE:

(you don’t have to be in middle school)

Middle School’s known to be some of the hardest years of our lives, between hormones and homework it’s tough enough to make it through without mental health and the stigma it so often carries. As it’s impossible to make it through a class without someone making a joke about a mental illness either a friend of mine or I have, I’ve come to a certain conclusion. Teenagers will be teenagers, it shouldn’t be that way, it shouldn’t be an excuse to kidding about things that people truly struggle with on a daily basis, but it is. Sometimes things in life are just stupid, but we can’t let that get to us.

I’m a 13 (almost 14) year old in the ignorant year of 8th grade, towards the end of last year a few things in life went really, really wrong, and it resulted in a series of unfortunate events (no pun intended). Basically, by the time 8th grade started, I had not only experienced my fair share of panic attacks, gone to a therapist several times, but I had also been diagnosed with depression and an anxiety disorder. I had basically hidden from my entire grade during the summer, so as school started up again and I was struck by a mass of indirect insults towards my mental illnesses, let’s just say there was a lot of tears at the beginning of the year.

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My name is Brittany, and my mental health story is quite the roller coaster, but I am deeply hoping that someone somewhere will read this and find hope in it. 

I’m not sure I could tell you exactly when I knew I had a mental illness, everything for me started at such a young age. I knew something was wrong, I just didn’t know it was out of the ordinary. I was raised in a cult or a sect called branhamism. It took me a long time to utter those words, I was always taught that it was just church. I thought that this was what church meant. I won’t delve too deeply but to paint a clear picture it was a church that believed women should wear ankle long skirts, shouldn’t cut their hair, and should live at home and serve their husbands. There was no worldy music allowed, no makeup, tattoos or peircings, no nail polish, no birth control, the list goes on and on. The church greatly preached the end times over and over, drilling it into your head three times a week. I was raised in this church, this was all I knew.

So, from a very young age I began to develop severe anxiety. The first panic attack I can remember was when I was about 5 years old, possibly 4. I over heard my mother in the kitchen speaking with my older sister. I cannot remember the exact conversation except the words of my mother that still ring clearly in my ears. She said to my sister, ‘Brianna, in order to make something right that you have done wrong, you have to tell the person you have done wrong against.’ This may seem like simple advice, but to a five year old, it was the most terrifying information in the world. I immediately went to my room to think things out. Now, there was no one I had truly done wrong against at 5 years old but things seem a little different when you’re that young and don’t truly know right from wrong yet. My wrongs were not the wrongs of others. This is because my entire perception is skewed, but we will get to that soon. My wrongs looked more like bad thoughts. For instance, sometimes I would wonder if Jesus had private parts (which sounds very silly now but at 5 this seemed like a valid thought). However, because my church was very against sex as a whole (it was taught as a necessary evil once you were married) anything in relation to it sent me into a terrible panic. I would stay up all night, panting, crying, cold sweats, just staring at the ceiling for hours in absolute fear at 5 years old.

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I was recently at a dinner with two friends, when we began discussing mental illness and mental health treatment.

All three of us have openly had periods of struggle with both depression and anxiety, but we all had very different takes on treatment, particularly in regards to antidepressants.

“I wouldn’t go on them,” said the first friend.

“I would go on them, but just until I feel better,” said the second.

My take was the opposite: I have been taking antidepressants on and off my entire life, and since deciding to take them consistently nearly three years ago, my life has turned around. I plan to be on them forever.

Conversations like this are not uncommon. When it comes to mental health issues, opinions are often polarized and strongly held.

I understand that antidepressants are not for everyone; many people are fortunate in not suffering from mental illness, and even many of those who do would prefer to have medication be their last resort.

For me, medication is a part of a more comprehensive treatment plan to avoid falling back into the throes of the major depression that I know always lingers beneath the surface of my delicately balanced equilibrium.

I remember what it feels like to be unwell.

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