Navigating a world that often feels cold, insensitive, and unaccepting of mental illness is lifelong work, a healing journey with ups and downs that has no end. As a highly sensitive person who has lived with anxiety/depression/OCD/ADHD since childhood, struggled with self-harm, substance abuse, and eating disorders, and is a rape and domestic abuse survivor, I have sought out many forms of therapy over my lifetime, both traditional and alternative.

One concept that I became familiar with in Dialectal Behavioral Therapy (DBT) is having a toolbox. Every individual’s toolbox looks different and will evolve over time. It is essentially a list of our skills and techniques for emotional regulation, distress tolerance, mindfulness, and interpersonal effectiveness. I would like to share some of my go-to tools for self-soothing and traversing times of heightened anxiety/the unknown: 

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I do have a story to tell about my life dealing with depression, posttraumatic stress disorder, and suicide attempts. I am working on it at the present time and it will be a long process to get it composed. I want to help others with my story and hope it will inspire others to not give up and know that it will get better.

                                                                                                                  Sincerely,

                                                                                                                   Shonna

My name is Lindsay Wheeler and I have struggled with mental illness for my entire life. I’ve found empowerment in being a thought leader, writing about my experience with depression, bipolar, and an eating disorder, and advocating for others with similar challenges.  Besides the work I do personally, my decision to be transparent and write about my fight with depression inspired the founding of a mental illness project at my alma mater. I continue to write and share everyday for my followers and broadening community.

Suicide and mental illness are rampant, and issues few people address head on. I allowed mental illness to cripple me in silence for too many years. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I began to write about it publicly and in detail. Exposing the most fragile pieces of myself to a world that has historically rejected these sorts of expressions was an exhilarating feat in which stigma had its chance prevail. But stigma is weak at its core and I conquered it head on. Advocacy is my life now.

The world fears women who push the envelope; those who say “it’s okay to be vulnerable.” Weaving humor and light into moments of discomfort or anguish can help to transform those mired in the chains of history. Sarah Silverman didn’t make history by sitting in the back and keeping quiet. Mental illness isn’t defeat; it is a sometimes-treacherous path to self- realization. Beside me stand so very many others in the same heavy shoes, wondering how they got here. I write for each and every person who has called or written to tell me they found hope in the context of a dialog I started. It is they who have given me the courage to share my secrets, how I find light in dark places, and be free.

My writing is relatable to those who struggle with mental illness personally, as well as those who don’t. This is my gift, and I know I’d be wasting it if I didn’t shoot to spread it as much as possible. The response I’ve received for my writing has been tremendous and I’m in the process of writing a book. In the past, I simply wasn’t ready to live my life the way I do now, but today I am proud to stand as a resource for anybody who may need help.

My name is Abbey and mental illness is something that I’ve struggled with for years. I’ve been diagnosed with several mental illnesses, such as depression, anxiety, post traumatic stress disorder and Bipolar II. I’ve found peace and comfort from sharing my story through writing blogs and poetry, and sharing my story on social media sites. My goal in life is to inspore someone, anyone, and let them know that they are not alone in their struggles and that I want to support anyone in need of support and to be a mentor and someone others can look to for guidance. Even though I  still struggle greatly, I find hope and comfort from sharing my story. I hope that I can be a light in someone else’s life and be there for someone in the same way others have been for me. Support from friends and family that I can relate to truly has saved my life and made me feel safe when talking about my struggles, and I would love to pass down my personal struggles to help guide others through their struggles as well.

So many, so many people out there living in fear and shame because of their own mental illness. They will never speak up because society told them to SHUT UP. Society doesn’t care about our feelings. I was one of those people that lived in fear. 

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I’ve been living with mental illness since early teens,I’m in 50s now..I’ve been in and out of hospitals,counseling all those yrs.to many to count..some doing more damage than help…Diagnosed w recurrent major depression,BPD,anxiety,ptsd.etc……..I don’t see the good in life or people..I suffer and I know the stigma and that doesn’t help ,nor does the insurance problem . My latest suicide attempt was this year, ive been put on court ordered counseling and meds.my secondary insurance stopped and that’s the one that pd for counseling,once again Im in yet another counselors office…I don’t trust anybody so this is not easy but this guy I already feel may be different,cause I’ve been used,given up on,harmed by many many counselors…For the first time in 35+yrs of countless treatments,counselors I’m hearing,We care,were here for you,were not in it for the money,it’s cause we care,we don’t want you hurting/killing yourself,we want you to take it moment by moment and live a better life and fight..we want to be here for you..That is something I’ve needed to here but havent.EVER..Maybe there might be a tiny bit of hope,maybe I can try getting back up and fighting w this therapist help…I don’t know cause it’s only been a few wks…But also w insurance issue I can’t get some meds that are mandated,and I can not afford…It’s so wrong cause I know there’s alot like me,where we need treatment and meds to keep not only stable but to maybe have hope

1. I’ve had anxiety since 1st grade, depression since I was 11 years old. This was in the 1960’s and 1970’s. Nobody talked about, understood or even knew about mental illness. It was referred to as “growing pains”.
2. Unfortunately, I wasn’t diagnosed until the early 1990’s; also with compulsive overeating, bulimia, borderline personality disorder, relationship/male dependency, survivor of mental, physical and sexual abuse and rape, codependency, PTSD, attention deficit disorder, self harm (cutting), suicide attempts, etc. 
3. When finally diagnosed, mental illness was still not really recognized by insurance companies. Therefore, receiving proper treatment was limited and frustrating. I’m sad and angry that I wasn’t able to get the help I so desperately needed as a child, my life might have been brighter growing up. 
4. I was finally able to receive therapy along with medications to help cope with mental illness. It is still a struggle. Couple of times my medications stopped being effective and I struggled with depression and anxiety. My doctor and I kept trying different medications and ECT’s (Electro Convulsive Therapy) until we found a combination of medications that worked. The ECT’S didn’t help me, but I know friends that find them very helpful. It gets difficult at times, just keep working with your doctor/therapist and there is a light at the end of the dark tunnel.
5. I’m very glad that children and teens are able to be diagnosed early and can get treatment so they have a chance to a brighter future. Even though we still struggle with the stigma of mental illness, times have sure changed since I was a child.

One in five adults live with mental illness

You’ve spent your childhood watching your mother or father struggle with anxiety, depression or obsessive-compulsive disorder. You can’t remember if you put the cuts on your arms or if it was something they did. Everything may be going smoothly and suddenly, you find yourself furious, panicky or tearful and you don’t know why. They never noticed the cuts. Your life is often filled with anxiety, uncertainty, and vigilance. You don’t let your father see you cry when his anger breaks your jewelry box; the gift you cherished that he gave you only two months ago. You were plagued by loneliness, vulnerability, and helplessness. You felt unwanted, abandoned, and lost. 

I was convinced no one would believe me, so I hid my chaotic home life from everyone. I was the family mediator, calming down a frightened father and comforting a sad, lonely mother. I convinced myself I was defective or different from other kids. When I was in school, instead of paying attention to my teachers, I’d spend all day worrying about how my mom was doing.

I lived in a permanent state of hyper-vigilance, constantly attuned to my father’s erratic moods and my mother’s helplessness. I chose to stay close to my emotionally unavailable, controlling partners and swallowed my needs to gain their approval. I wish I was beaten. I’d feel more legitimate. Who cares about me? Doesn’t anyone notice? I felt angry. I felt scared. The problem is no one can see my scars. I feel like if I told someone I was verbally abused, they’d think I was just complaining about being yelled at. If I’d been a better daughter my mother wouldn’t have been so sick. If I’d been a better son my mother wouldn’t have been so sick. All I knew was my grandparents were telling me that mum’s sick and dad was telling me that mum’s sick and I was confused, because she didn’t look sick to me.

I need positive feedback

Trauma and betrayal.

Staying out of the way, and staying safe.

Growing myself up.

I found myself in a paralyzing depression. I was suffering from complex posttraumatic stress disorder. There’s nobody in this world who loves me … I don’t have a mother’s love or a father’s love, or, family love… so it wouldn’t matter if I disappeared off the face of the earth.

My mother stopped sleeping when I went to college. Maybe it was my father’s heart attacks, maybe it was me. She’s been withering since. My familial environment was terrifying, and the chronic nature of this negativity exacerbated the effects of the neglect and abuse I endured. I found myself constantly trying to fix him. When I’m asleep and my roommate burns her grilled cheese at two in the morning my heart races as the smoke detector beeps. It takes everything in me to stop the panic building. The tears escape anyway. Growing up with dad, I never felt secure… and I know that I have always been anxious, my whole life. I feared to pass on the illness to a future generation. I’m scared to have kids. What if I treat them the same way my parents treated me? What if I don’t get well enough to care for them?

These were necessary behaviors when I was young, but they aren’t vital for my survival anymore. You can identify and stop participating in abusive relationship dynamics. Try to engage with people who make you feel safe and respected, who listen well and are emotionally available. I can be my own person. Thank your shame for protecting you and ask it to please step back. Your childhood was not your fault. It was ok to put some distance between me and my mother, even though I loved her. I named, validated and felt the sadness in my body as I gave myself compassion. I took a walk through the park and looked at nature. I felt better. It fostered empathy, compassion, and resilience. You had terrible role modeling from your mother. You had terrible role modeling from your father.

I will not inherit my mother’s pain. I will not inherit my father’s fear. She never showed you that we can learn to control our impulses. So I’m worth saving? I’m not irredeemably bad? I will always have ups and downs and have to manage fears and the damage that will always be there, but now I accept it and work with it. I can thank my parents for everything they have done for me. But I no longer owe them anything. I will grow strong. I will get better. I will be happy. And I will remember:

I cannot heal my parents.

This is a Found Essay, meaning that I pulled lines from different essays on NAMI and incorperated them with my own experience wot create a creative Non- Fiction piece.

I was diagnosed with depression at 24 years old..I knew something with majorly wrong with the way I felt I knew it wasn’t a normal down mood.. Then around 28 years old is when I got the panic and anxiety disorder which for like a month I could not sleep, eat I was so sick but I didn’t know what was going on.. I have been on medication since I have been 24 years old.. One medication I am on is for anxiety and panic and I dislike the stigma that I abuse those just because they are controlled substance.. My disorder is so bad and that is scary when the Doctors do that when they threaten to take you off of stuff that is what I hate the most .I got an addiction and I am recovering but it is so hard because it made me feel better to numb everything

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