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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May is Mental Illness Awareness Month.  Each year it brings up memories that I have tried to forget for over 40 years.  This year I am tearing down the walls I’ve built around my mental illness memories and cycles of suffering.  This year I am being vulnerable and engaging in a conversation about the shame and stigma around mental illness by sharing my personal story with you. 

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Hello my name is Silvia Bures Brownlow. I am from Barcelona, Spain. As you can hear I have a big accent so please stop me if you don’t understand and I will be happy to repeat it.

I am taking a class to be Family and Peer Support Specialist from NAMI California. NAMI stands for National Alliance in Mental illness.

I am here today because I want to help you. Also, I can give you some information and services that you or your family can use.

I have a life experience living with a mental heath diagnoses.

I was diagnosed 10 years ago. I felt confused, scared and lonely.

 I used to be so ashamed of being mentally ill that I try to hard to hide it until I realize that I am who I am with my ups and downs, happy or sad.

Also, I can relate with you and your experience of being hospitalized because I was too.  I thought that I will never be able to come back to be a productive person to society and work again.

Being in a mental Hospital change me.

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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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Hello,   My name is Minyon Bond. This composition is about my life as a mental patient and as a subscriber to NAMI.  NAMI has asked for stories from persons involved with mental illness. I have been a NAMI member and subscriber for many years. The comprehensive overview which NAMI provides has been of frequent value. It is my hope that this story may help others like me.    I am one of those people. I am a Consumer.  I am BIPOLAR. I am a 73 year old woman with BIPOLAR 1 DISORDER. I have been under psychiatric care for 42 years.  I have taken many psychiatric medications. I’ve had three psychiatrists, my current one for over 35 years. Along the way I worked in field research with plants, in basic research in spinal cord injury regeneration and for 33 years as a professor of Biology/Botany in a local Community College.  I have been retired for six years.

I spent my best 35 years with Denise, my dearest friend and deepest love. There were good times and bad times but she was there for ALL times. In 2014 she died of Swine flu. Last year my friend David  introduced me to Tim. Tim produces music. Because of his patient coaching, Tim now also produces my music. Most of my time is spent writing, composing, playing, singing and recording our songs.  Life is good again. Different but good.

How did I get here?  In January, 1975, I entered a mental hospital. This was labelled as a failed suicide attempt. Why failed? My friend David hauled me out of my swimming pool. My original diagnosis: SCHIZOPHRENIA. I was treated with several medications from the Thorazine family.  These ultimately resulted in profound depression.  None of the several varieties of antidepressants helped.

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By: Kaleigh Peery

What does recovery mean? Well the dictionary says it’s a return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength and/or the action or process of regaining possession or control of something stolen or lost.

When it comes to mental illness, “recovery“ to me means to be able to not run from the chaos of  your own mind but to embrace and accept it. There are some who of us who are not just addicts to drugs and alcohol but addicted to the worse thing of all: their own minds. Nothing compares to a battle with your own mind. For as long as I can remember, I did everything I could to hide the inner battle stirring around inside me. Yet, through all years of madness I could never justify labeling myself as an addict even though I did spend years self-medicating and trying to numb the chaos in my mind.

December of 2015, I finally broke down and realized I needed some serious help.  Every part of me was shattering into a million pieces like broken glass and I was feeling as if any one who could help me pick up the pieces would be afraid to get cut on shards of glass that were chaotically placed around me. I sunk deeper into my addiction to my mind. The anxiety I had was unbearable. I was fearful of any emotional connections. I honestly was at the point where all I wanted to do was completely just give up. The burden of illness felt too much to bear. I thought I was never going to be able to function appropriately in society. My self-loathing got worse and worse and of course then follows the guilt and isolation. No one could understand how I could be this way. To good family, good friends, from the outside looking in, I should be happy as can be, right? Everyone loves me, just be happy.

Well, I wasn’t.  I was overly exhausted from faking it my whole life.  I had coped with my invisible illness alone for so long I created a world of puking out the pain or grinding my teeth until my jaw would lock up. I was sick and tired of trying to find pills, just so I could go outside and spend time with family and friends and not dread every moment of it or fear that I would have a panic attack, sick and tired of looking for ADD meds so I could just function to clean and maybe not lose everything I touch (which was ongoing problem that messed with my life way more than it should). The hustle of it all only contributed to even more to triggering my PTSD or my generalized anxiety disorder. For me the saddest part is no one even knew what was going on with me because I took pride in my resilience and always just kept keeping on, convincing myself that this darkness will fade if just can focus on the light. It is what I had always done after all. I had always made it out of the chaos in my head alone so this time shouldn’t be any different. Hiding my illness for so long, I became the master at faking a smile and crying in the shower.

This time though, I was spiraling down deep into the abyss of the darkness part of my illness and with a little help from a narcissistic man who enjoyed playing with my already fragile mind, I lost it. I let him manipulate me into thinking that I would feel better if I just let him put a needle full of drugs into my body, knowing I am terrified of needles. He insisted and the darkness in me submitted regretfully. After that night of drug use, I realized I had hit rock bottom. It was time to put my ego aside and tell me my family I was not doing well.

After the shock of telling my family, I checked myself into a crisis unit. For the first time in my life, I did what was needed to be done for my own mental health and left everyone’s opinions at the door. I needed help. I needed control over the increasing amount of panic attacks a day, along with the self-medication because if I didn’t I would most likely end up dead. I was losing the ability to even care about life because I wasn’t living a life worth living.

After spending 18 days with some amazing staff and doctors, I could feel happiness and hope again.

I wrote this about four months after I left crisis unit. At that point I was just happy to be able to go the grocery store, socialize and enjoy the little things again. I was not only functioning though. I thought I was excelling. I felt and—still feel—extremely blessed. For the first time in forever I began to write, paint and had even got myself a role and once again could be under the bright lights of the theatre stage. While the rest of my time than was spent volunteering with NAMI and trying to openly talk about my illness in the hopes of helping someone else.  

Now, eight months later, talk about full circle. I teach “living successfully with a mental illness” on the crisis unit where I once was resident along with the honor of becoming an In Our Own Voice presenter for NAMI. Also, I am interning to get my crisis recovery specialist certification at the unit. While there, I was blessed with the job opportunity to become a residential specialist before my internship was up.

I can help spread the word and breathe hope back into others who are in the same shoes I was once. It a magical feeling to say the least.  

It was little less than a year ago when I thought my life was over and pointless. Now I’m nothing but excited about the future and what it has in store for me. The possibilities are endless when you finally have hope and confidence in yourself

I learned to own the chaos inside me and because of that, I am now tapping into the great potential and edge my mental health condition has gifted upon me

My goal in life is to remove the stigma and to use my voice so that no one ever feels as alone as I once did.

My Story (super short version!):

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder in my early teens. Spent the rest of my life up until four years ago being ashamed of who I was.

But I am not my illness, my illness is not me. I don’t need nor do I want sympathy. What I need and want is help to stop the stigma of mental illness.

I’m also selfless to a fault, which is very debilitating (to say the least!).. but it is also, ironically enough, part of why I’m still alive and in the place I am today.

With that being said, I don’t ask for help a lot. I’m getting better at that though & making sure I’m asking when I truly need it - like today. I’m asking for your help.

Please help me stop the stigma once and for all. 🙏🏻❤️

 #KNOWBETTER #DOBETTER #BEBETTER #MENTALWELLNESS

 I’m 32 years old, from New Orleans, a Mother, Wife, Nursing Student, Survivor, and a member of #NAMI! I am living with mental illness daily. I have multiple diagnosis, so do many of the people close to me, including my very own child, mother, father, and Fiancée. I am helping #fightstigma by educating people and reminding US that it is #OK2Talk 💚 I want to reach as many people as I can. I want to be the voice of those who never had the chance, I want to remind everyone that we are not alone nor do we have to be silent… No Shame, #NOSTIGMA! We all deserve help. WE ALL DESERVE TO BE HEARD! My wounds are invisible BUT THEY ARE THERE.

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Hello my name is Silvia. I am from Barcelona, Spain. As you can hear I have a big accent so please stop me if you don’t understand and I will be happy to repeat it.

I am taking a class to be Family and Peer Support Specialist from NAMI California. NAMI stands for National Alliance in Mental illness.

I am here today because I want to help you. Also, I can give you some information and services that you or your family can use.

I have a life experience living with a mental heath diagnoses.

I was diagnosed 10 years ago. I felt confuse, scare and lonely.

 I used to be so ashamed of being mentally ill that I try to hard to hide it until I realize that I am who I am with my ups and downs, happy or sad.

Also, I can relate with you and your experience of being hospitalized because I was too.  I thought that I will never be able to come back to be a productive person to society and work again.

Being in a mental Hospital change me.

Keep reading

Statistics state that 1 in 5 people struggle with mental illness but I’m wondering how many people with mental illness but don’t feel safe and comfortable sharing. The term mental illness carries a stigma that most are ashamed or afraid to carry. I have generalized anxiety disorder along with panick attack disorder but that does not mean that I am my “mental illness” just as someone with high blood pressure isn’t labeled as such. Everyone has struggles and issues and should be able to express themselves and seek out the positive in life! I am optimistic about life and know that the options are endless.. the more I share and open up the lighter I feel. I am not alone. You are not alone. I will continue to be open and transparent and Use my anxiety to fuel the fire and view my shortcomings as a strengths that Are continually shaping who I am and giving me goals for who I want to be.