When I found out I had a mental illness, it was already so bad. I had tried to commit suicide twice and already got addicted to self harm. I even used prescription drugs to overdose. I got diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety. I was out on this medication that made me hallucinate and my doctor would not take me off of it. I switched doctor’s and now I am on my 5th medication and I have to take a sleep medication, also.

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My name is Heather, and I’m a teenager from Virginia. Ever since I was a child, anxiety and depression has been a part of my life. I started going to therapists and taking medication at a young age. Thoughts like “What is wrong with me?” and “Why am I not normal?” flooded my brain. It took me a long time to realize that my mental illness wasn’t my fault. I think a lot of people struggle with that.

In 2013, I had an awful bout of depression and struggled with self-injury. I was suicidal. I can’t pinpoint a certain cause, but there were many stressors in my life. I started to spend less time with others and I isolated myself in my room.

Everything changed when I called the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. I called them because I knew that I was dangerous to myself. They helped me calm down and eventually my parents brought me to an inpatient center. I was upset at first, but it was truly what I needed. My medication was changed and I received therapy. It helped me tremendously, and I think being in the inpatient center has taught me how to deal with my mental illness day by day.

A couple years after I became a You Matter blogger for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. I realized that I could share my story. Others who hear it won’t feel so alone. Now I hope to get involved with mental health organizations.

Those who have experienced mental illness firsthand or have family members or friends with mental illness can be voices for those who are struggling. Yes, I still struggle with anxiety and depression. But being a voice for others going through what I’m going through tells me that I matter. You can make a difference.

You are not alone.

Hello, my name is Angel. I was searching for a way to advocate my mental health and the seriousness of mental illness, when NAMI caught my eye. I stumbled across this and here I am. I would say that I am recovering, but I know that my depression still lingers along. I take medication on a daily, therapy each week. I write to tell you about the blessing that was brought upon me.

In the beginning, I thought the sadness and despair would end, but it just got worse. I remember wearing a mask to hide the sadness, to hide the fear of being judged. And every time I would runaway from the problem, it would come back harder than ever. I could not understand what was going on or what was happening. All I wanted was to get out of the dark, to escape the demons that were taunting me every single day.

I have had a long, tiring journey to get where I am, about four years, to be exact. Although I am in the process of recovery, I have made an impact and immense about of progress through the years I have been under the chains of my illness. It took me a long time to understand my mental illness and realize that it was okay to have such feelings and emotions. I would regret and hate myself because I believed I did not deserve to feel this way, I constantly thought that if I wanted to be happy, I could, but I was wrong.

I was diagnosed with depression in my first to second year of high school, but as I look back, it all begun in seventh grade. I remember the first peak of my depression over me. I do not remember what happened or how it was triggered, but I suddenly felt sad all the time. My mother thought it was a phase, my family thought I was overreacting. “There is nothing to be sad about.” They said, and I agreed because there actually wasn’t anything to be sad about. I remember feeling stressed out about school because I was a perfectionist. I needed everything to be perfect, whether it was school or home, everything I did needed to be perfected, and if it wasn’t, I was be disappointed in myself, to the point where I felt worthless. So, I did what I thought was the logical thing and pushed the feelings aside… but that made things turn for the worse.

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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.

I am a survivor of depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, an eating disorder, self harm, and suicide. Although I am a survivor my fight is not over. Far too often people think that a mental illness can be cured and that is far from the truth. Back in October of 2010 I felt as if my life had fallen apart and I was admitted into a psychiatric hospital for the first time. I never really knew that these types of hospitals existed or that the things I was struggling with were common among people my age. I was 16 at the time and I truly felt so alone. From October 2010- May 2013 I was admitted into 6 different psychiatric hospitals. I was admitted so many times that I cannot even give you a number. When I was struggling through those years in my life I honestly did not see myself having a future. I stopped planning my future and I did not care about the long term effects that my choices had on my life because I did not foresee myself living through it all.

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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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I first began to experience symptoms of bipolar disorder in my early teens. i was put on Lithium while in a hospital and right away the almost catatonic depression I was in began to ease. From there on in, it seemed medication would be the answer to everything that was wrong with me. For years i was on every depression medication available, tricyclics, MAO inhibitors–when one stopped working, I was simply put on something else. Then things got better and I needed no medication through my twenties. i still struggled with lows, but there were no suicide attempts, I was able to live and love, to work and, for the most part, even enjoy life. Then, at the age of 29 I had a manic episode and my medication nightmare began.

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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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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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It was never about how dirty the house was or how many newspapers you had saved overtime or the amount of magnets you had on both fridges. It was the draining effect of what your mental illness would bring. What mom was I going to see today? Will she be nice and funny? Will she be mean and hurtful? Will she be sad and kept to herself? Everyday was different. Each had a little twist to them. From bipolar to manic to depression the things that are forbidden to be talked about. Yet they take so much away from people. I never hated you I just hated your illness. I hated that you became mean in a blink of an eye or you get sad within seconds and I did love when you were funny because we could crack jokes but all it took was for one little thing and you’d switch. I never wanted this for you. All I wanted was my mom. Your illness took over and it was so hard to love you. When you knew how to take the wound you opened and twist and dig it deeper. I know one day ill look back and be thankful for all the lessons learned and maybe help others one day, but for now I just want to help you.