Hi! I have been diagnosed with Type II Bipolar Disorder, Clinical Depression, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Social Anxiety Disorder and PTSD.  I have been in treatment since 1994.  Sounds like a mess doesn’t it? I’ll admit for many years there were times I thought I was crazy. There were times I thought I had two personalities, which I found out I don’t.  Some doctors have tried to diagnose me with Borderline Personality Disorder as well. After reading about it, I believe they could be right about that too. Many of it’s symptom also fit me. 

The reason I am writing this is to say that there is hope!  I wasn’t diagnosed with Bipolar until I was nearly 45.  I am now 61.  I knew since my teen years that there was something wrong with me, but I didn’t know what.  I didn’t know back then that there was help. I didn’t know in my 30’s or 40’s there was help. Mental illness wasn’t talked about then like it is now.  I was ashamed at first, but you know what?  I talk about it freely now.  Mental Illness is no different than having heart disease, or diabetes, or kidney disease.  Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.   Your brain is just as much an organ as your heart, the organ that regulates your insulin, and your kidney.

I have accepted the fact that I have to take my “psych” meds, as I call them, for the rest of my life. Right along with my blood pressure medicine and potassium for my heart. It doesn’t make me weak.  It makes me a survivor!

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It was June 2003 when I was first diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder which, no doubt, had gone undiagnosed for my entire life. My life was sprinkled with extreme anxiety attacks, OCD, manic episodes, and especially severe depression. By the time I had my own family – a wife and two boys of my own – my depression had gotten out of control.

For me depression was and is extended periods of time inside a six foot cube with no stimulus. No light sneaking in through my lids. No sound other than shallow, rushed breaths. No breeze touching my face. Alone.

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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.

When I was 19 I was finally diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder after 2 years of rapid cycling between mania and depression. I had also dealt with depression for a long time, and have attempted suicide 3 times in my life. It has taken a long time to become stable, but after years of therapy and medications, I’m functioning well and have minimal impairment. I never gave up on my dreams, and now I’m 25, own a home, am halfway through nursing school with a 4.0 GPA at the top of my class, and was selected for a major scholarship to pay for the rest of school. My point is to never give up. I promised myself that when I finally put that R.N. behind my name, I will make a difference and help people who are struggling like I did. I will remind healthcare providers that those lost souls need guiding, and not judgement or whispers. Stay strong, you have a purpose. 

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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            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 suffered intensely from psychotic depression.  I didn’t know it had a name, even though I’ve had mdd and bipolar disorder.  The pain and immersion into a hellish world where you are convinced the only way out is suicide,  is beyond comprehension. 

It has been a year in making to full recovery.  Being so traumatic,  I was grateful just to be alive; however,  I never dreampt I would have peace, contentment,  and joy.

Psychotic depression is one step before death. If this happens to you or a loved one, pull out the big guns:antidepressants,  antipychotics,  AND ect.  Dont be concerned about memory loss, and the anti-ect rhetoric.  Choose life and happiness.  Weight gain from antipychotics?  Rather be alive or dead?

There is life and full recovery after psychotic depression. 

“Successfully” Living with Bipolar Disorder, If I Can Do it, So Can You!

 I never thought I’d actually say I was “Successfully Living” with Bipolar Disorder. I’ve been on so many medications and been through cognitive behavior therapy, multiple psychiatric hospitalizations along with a long-term hospitalization as well. When I found out I had medication resistant depression and I had to have ECT (Electro-Convulsive Therapy) I didn’t think I’d ever become successful.

But, here I am. And, I can actually say for the first time since my diagnosis in 2003 that I am successfully living with Bipolar Disorder. Why do I say “successfully”? Because, I’d rather not consider the other options.

I work hard every day to make sure I stay stable. And, if an episode attempts to rear its ugly head, I’m on top of it. I’ve created a Coping Box that is my “go to” no matter if a mania episode or depressive episode starts. The box is filled with affirmations, prayer journals, my Bible, my Wellness Recovery Action Plan, coloring books, crayons, colored pencils, bubbles, (no one can be in a sad mood with bubbles, right?)  Gummie snacks, a list of people to call, and all sorts of spiritual books to keep me in God’s Word.

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I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder when I was near the age of four. At that time, I was one of the few children with such a severe case. My psychiatrist for almost a year went back and fourth diagnosing me from schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. I was destined to be bipolar, my moms side of her family has mental problems. I was unfortunately the only sister who ended up with this mental illness. But what really pushed it over the already mentally breaking point? When I lived with my parents from up until I was shy of 4, was the abuse and neglect. My mom would drink and abuse. Get mad over nothing and abuse. I guarantee you, we had no such thing as food. And if there was any, it was beyond expired. I remember running to my neighbors houses, just to get away. Now, I was young when I left to live with my grandparents, but I just can’t forgive or forget things. My mom came home from a bar, married to another guy while married to my dad. So my mom left, my dad decided to truck drive, and my grandparents raised my sisters and I. Yes, to this day, we live with my grandparents. I honestly, have never met such a strong woman like my grandma. My grandma is my mom. My grandma was the one who sat there while I abused her, yelled at her, spit at her… She never gave up. She was the one who sat through psychiatrist appointments and made me talk, helped me get medication, helped me slowly get better. I used to bang my head on walls and floors. Why? I didn’t feel pain. But, I didn’t want to live. I was almost hospitalized twice, have taken and experimented with tons of medication to get me better, suffered through liver damage, plus the countless blood tests. I still to this day, almost 19 years old, suffer the state of life and mind. I will forever see a psychiatrist. I will forever take medication. Just please remember. That you aren’t alone. You are worth life. I know how it feels to fight demons that are beyond your mental capacity. I know how alone you feel. I understand the tears of not understanding half the things you do. I understand what anxiety and depression is. If I get too stressed, I have a panic attack on top of a bipolar episode. Trust me, I understand. You are beautiful, never forget that.

I discovered NAMI in 2015 when I saw a flier in my psychiatrist’s office.
Hi. My name is Nicholas Lima and I am 31 years old. I was diagnosed in 2002 at 16 years old. I have struggled with bipolar disorder, anxiety and depression. After years of being a psych patient, I feel amazing, thank God.
Together we can!