Hello, my name is Matthew.

I have a serious mental illness and the diagnosis is Bipolar disorder.

We all have our own story. Mine is how I went through school K-12 and always struggled with depression and anxiety but I never got the right treatment until my senior year of high school was falling apart.

I did graduate but it was more than getting to class on time, doing homework and studying for the next test. It was Bipolar 1… a serious and complicated illness. With words going around school that, I was falling apart like a monument that collapsed with no foundation. The foundation was not cemented it was my state of mind. A dark hole that comes quick, I went to Havenwick Mental Hospital.

I was ran a cross-country race, I was always a great runner since 10th grade. “Come on Matt speed up,” I finished with a bad time. Which was not me but my team treated it like it was. I was just dehydrated, which was true, but how about writing how you will run a race and do well in school the next day when you stay up until 3 am? Why, I was manic. Manic is less sleep more energy. (Superman) I felt like trash with a cherry on top.

Going back to 2005 when I was in kindergarten the alphabet was tough for me. The teachers most likely said he is hard on himself or he is slow. Ever since then I was hard on myself, but moving back to my senior year I was falling apart quickly and then started to not be as hard on myself once I received treatment at a mental hospital I felt happy and with peace to be in the same room as other people with mental illness. When I was in Havenwick Mental Hospital, I was thinking of my friends and people at my high school. Not as much as if I miss them, but the fact that the people in hospital with me did not take the small things for granted. Small things are like appreciation for one another.

Back at my high school it was you are a jerk get out of here you are a no buddy. Then I was rethinking my friends and being happy to talk to others that had a great appreciation of one another. Respect for one another. With respect comes a problem to connect about depression, anxiety, coping, medication, and other mental illness in a hospital room. I just think it ironic how the people that don’t realize they have it all but instead that blame other people for their problems. For the people in the hospital, it was just being happy to have shot at recovery. Ever since my recovery, I made a face with puzzle pieces each piece as a word that defines who I am. I made sure that I filled it all the way. To never looked back!

It took months maybe a year or two to feel very comfortable about being aware of mental illness. That’s what brought me to type this letter. Everyone has chances to somehow come out of your mental health problems. If not come out to feel somewhat relieved.

The treatment was more about faith than anything else faith that you have a shot to change for the better. Support groups are in many hospitals in the Metro Detroit Area. Just look on the web or a person that may know about mental health in general. If our problems were meant to be solved by ourselves we would not be speaking the same languages. Look what humans have done for thousands and thousands of years. Whether it was the next Empire or helping your neighbor down the street we have done it all. That’s what support is, its self help. What’s wrong with help, nothing. I have help. Great! “A man that faces his problems can teach someone else how to fight their problems, but not someone that runs away.”

Failure is just part of life, it’s learning from someone or your own past mistakes. A quote from Henry Ford the man that started the assembly line a line full of other people that work on different parts that help each other to achieve a goal that it’s hard but they made it look easy. “Failure is the opportunity to begin again more intelligently.”- Henry Ford to this day still makes a tremendous impact on the auto industry and assembly lines in general. He also made a lot of mistakes in the process but learned from one another. He made jobs for people with severe mental illnesses. (Production line) Hope this letter helps someone in need of hope in their lives.

            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 was diagnosed with type 2 bipolar disorder and generalized anxiety disorder about six months ago. Honestly, the diagnosis was one of the best things that has ever happened to me. After years of extreme depressive episodes, cycling with feeling unstoppable, I was desperate for relief. It sucks to have a mental illness. It really, truly sucks. But it’s amazing to be on medication, getting the treatment I really need. I think that the moment I realized that my diagnosis was a relief was the moment I stopped being hopeless about it. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, but being diagnosed with bipolar disorder was one of the most hopeful moments of my life.

My name is Bek. I am a 34-year-old mother who has PTSD and postpartum depression, as well as unspecified bipolar disorder. For the first time in my life I actually feel somewhat stumped when it comes to writing about my mental illness and the road of recovery. I started attending NAMI meetings as part of an outpatient program, which was proceeded by my first ever manic episode and my bipolar diagnosis. 

Depression has been a part of my life since puberty and high anxiety layered itself on top of that. Sharing my story with others has been part of my overall healing and I hope by writing this that someone out there feels less alone. The episodes are real, the panic is real, the mental strain and trauma is real. You get the picture. 

I feel like my emotions have always overwhelmed me, struggling to “get out of my own mind” and did not actively seek any mental help until my mid twenties.  I initially sought out cognitive behavioral therapy which was something very foreign to me. Change your habits, change your thoughts, feel better, right?  It allowed me to move through some of the issues that had grown deep roots in my psyche and medication was prescribed to work in combination with the therapy. I didn’t really care what I put in my body. I felt like I was in permanent survival mode but at least I was taking steps to “feel better.”  I survived. I also self-medicated with marijuana, which seemed to help keep mania at bay and in general made me feel like I could handle life better.

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Everyone struggles with something in life. Some struggle for brief periods of time and some struggle every day. I belong to the some who struggle every day. Since I was 5 years old I have constantly struggled with mental illness. I have been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, schizophrenia, depression, anxiety, ADD, ADHD, PTSD, and attention deficit Disorder. My dad, step mother, and Step Father physically abused me for most of my life because they didn’t understand what I was going through and my Mother was the only person in my life to try to help me through everything I was dealing with. Unfortunately I did not trust anyone around me due to how I was treated at home and because I was constantly bullied at school because I was different. Eventually the abuse I was facing at my step fathers house led to me going into a state of shock and I tried to hurt my mother because I was so out of it and thought she was my step father. I was 15 at this point and was detained. 

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I have bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, and anxiety. I have struggled with mental health illness since I was a child and because I was misdiagnosed with depression at the age of eleven, have suffered for quite some time.  I also struggled with alcoholism for a few years, having inherited it from my Dad.

I’ve been on many medications, seen several therapists and psychiatrists, made numerous suicide attempts, and self-harmed. I felt broken. I wasn’t thriving and I didn’t expect to survive. Then there was a miracle. I conceived my daughter. She was born in December of 2008.

I needed to at least live for her sake at that point, but I was still barely surviving. It was the spring of 2015 when I decided to quit alcohol and to go into the hospital because I was severely depressed and suicidal. The doctor changed my medications and a few days before my discharge date the doctor made me realize that I was still in a deep depression. I still needed help. I decided to do ECT.

It was a major decision but it changed my life. The combination of ECT, medications, and therapy have helped me onto my road of recovery. I’m not 100% and I still have my episodes. However, have my treatment team, my friends, and my family to guide me and help me. I’m not alone.

I am 32, a United States Marine Corps veteran, an auditor and I am living with bipolar disorder II, which causes symptoms of anxiety and depression episodes.

I never truly understood what it meant to have a mental illness until I realized that I was constantly worrying and feeling down. My depression episodes manifested as days of extreme lows where I struggled to get out of bed and perform day-to-day tasks and activities. I spoke to some friends who were dealing with similar symptoms, and they encouraged me to seek professional help. My bipolar diagnosis was identified when I was in a serious car accident while experiencing a manic episode.

Discovering a mental illness while recovering from a major accident was not easy. Here is what helped me accept my diagnosis and recover from my physical and mental injuries:

• My family and friends stepped up tremendously ready to assist and encourage me. I was an emotional and mental mess, and they helped put me back together.
• I had to position myself to receive advice from my family and friends who are familiar with mental illness and are actively managing their own mental illnesses. I also had to remain open to receiving information regarding coping strategies, being mindful of my mood and warning signs of a potential manic episode or manic depression.
• Setting small goals helped me find my way back to myself. I am not the same person I was before the accident, and trying to get back to that person is not realistic. I had to accept the now me in order to move forward.   

Today, I am different because I am living with my diagnosis and my diagnosis is not controlling me. I see my therapist and psychologist on a regular basis. I am mindful of my mood on a daily basis and aware of the warning signs of manic and depressive episodes. I ultimately have taken charge of my life and my health.

There is a need for mental illness to be recognized as a real and serious condition in community specifically the African American community. People need to be educated on the various mental illness diagnoses and symptoms and see a therapist at least 2-4 times a year to maintain their mental health. Education and therapy ensure they are not putting themselves or others in danger. Many people are unaware of their mental illness and choose to suffer in silence. We need to end this process of thinking and encourage people to seek support.

Mental illness screenings should be done 2-4 times a year for preventative reasons, just like an annual physical examinations and biannual dental cleanings. Mental illness screenings should be no different.

My hope is that people who live with mental illness and the people who love them will eventually see all health as equally important.

The idea of having a Bipolar Disorder stung me for a long time. When I’m feeling down, sometimes I feel the pressures of the stigma revolving around my mental illness. I always felt like there was a “normal” Valerie or a status quo that I had to

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My doctor described my diagnosis to me in this way: I’m a 78 RPM person trying to function in a 33 1/3 world. For you baby boomers, you’ll know what I mean. If you’re younger than a baby boomer and don’t understand the analogy, ask your parents to explain it to you.

When I’m manic, I’m like the energizer bunny. Always going. Creating something. Wanting something. 

Right after I got diagnosed, I jumped into crafts and started making these little wooden window seats.

I didn’t create one or two, or a few. I created dozens. And dozens. And boxes full. I obsessed over getting every single wooden window seat in the Tampa area so I could make something out of it. Then I wanted a puppy. (Thank goodness my husband saw fit to tell me no at that time) Then I jumped into soap making. I made pounds and pounds of soap. (All of this is in less than a week.)

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