This has to be the hardest year of my life.  Early 2016 my brother got diagnosed with depression, bipolar, schizophrenia and anxiety no one saw this coming. It happened over night our world got flipped upside down. In  May 2016 my brother attempted suicide and was admitted to a behavior mental clinic. I will have to say seeing him there was the hardest thing.  It didn’t even look like him I was so confused and mad at myself for not seen he needed help for being so caught up on other thing that I didn’t realize my brother was hurting so much. Scared of how our mom would take the news we kept it a secret for a couple of days we didn’t want her to know where he was or why he had been taken to the ER. After discussing what we should do we agreed she needed to know so it was my job to take her to see him. I didn’t know how to explain to her where he was so I just decided to have her see it and when she did it would be obvious what he had done.

Walking her up to the front of the door  to the clinic she knew as soon as we got out of the elevator I saw her face change she was so confused sad and I knew I had lost her. I looked in her eyes to a blank stare it was it’s if she couldn’t hear me even though I was right in front of her I knew she just wanted to go in there and take my brother home with her. It took me a couple of minutes to get her to come back to snap out of it.

As we waited for my brother in the visitors patio she broke she started to cry and asked why we lied and I told her we didn’t want her to blame her self but it was too late she already did.

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7 years ago I was plagued with an overwhelming reign of fear, confusion, anxiety and depression, to the point of suicide. I now know that my demise was the onset of schizophrenia. After several attempts with suicide and hospital visits I was finally referred to a mental health physician. He evaluated me with any insight and information I could give him. Unfortunately I was too paranoid to put all my trust in the doctors. I thought if I admitted all my ailments I would get locked away for good. 

It took 4 years for me to get diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic, mean while for the next four years living in unimaginable fear of everything. I was originally diagnosed as depressed. I can’t begin to explain the depression fear and confusion within these next 4 years but things kept getting worse and I didn’t care anymore if they locked me away. In desperation i broke down and finally admitted all my symptoms and relief was at my doorstep. 

My doctor was able to put me on the right medication. Don’t get me wrong it took a lot of work on both of our parts to get the right dosage of meds but perseverance paid off. Don’t give up on the meds because you don’t feel totally right or they cause side effects. Eventually these wear off and you’ll feel like you again.

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I suffer from anxiety, PTSD , and depression. Lost a brother to suicide. I’ve used self harm to self medicate. Feeling like it gave me some control of the pain imposed on me. I was apart of a religion that taught me I was “sinning” because 

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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 officially got diagnosed with anxiety and depression in my 6th grade year. Every year I went to the mental hospital for the same reason which is suicide attempts and/or self harm. I just started admitting to myself that I have problems and that I need to take the help I receive seriously. When first started in medicine I thought it wouldn’t help, but it did. You have a chance to help and spread awareness for mental health through your own experiences. There is hope out there trust me!

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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I was abused by my father and sexual assault at the time I was too afraid to speak and well I started self harming and thinking about suicide..On 11-8-12 I tried and failed to commit suicide later that week I was sent into a hospital and I stayed in there for about 4 weeks and during that time I found out I had BPD,Depression,PTSD, schizophrenia, ADD, ADHD and major Anxiety now I am 15 and for the past year I have spoken about my illness to schools because no one should be judge just because they have a illness. I’m in recovery and I have more self confidence now than ever before…yes my dad destroyed me at age 10 but through the year I built myself up and now I’m stronger and I love who I am.These Disorders and Illness don’t make us who we are..You’re Not Alone I Promise!! Stay Strong 

(tw/cw: self harm, suicide, drug use, sexual abuse, rape, blood mention)

My name is Goe, which is pronounced like the name Joe, and I will be 24 in thirteen days. 

I was sitting in one of my regular 12 step meetings last night, looking down at my arm. On my left arm, among many thin white scars are two pepperoni sized skin grafts. About ten years ago, I was sitting in my bedroom, high on painkillers that I had taken from my grandmother’s safe down the hall, burning my arm with an open flame. I did not feel anything, physically and emotionally. I had just recently started using drugs, but I had a relationship with self harm that was already two years old. I was woken up very early in the morning by several firemen who carried me to the ambulance outside in the driveway, and I was checked into the children’s psychiatric ward on the top floor of the Children’s Hospital a couple of cities away. I was hyperventilating in the intake room, scared out of my mind of what was going to happen to me. There at the hospital, the doctor’s surgically placed skin grafts from my thigh onto the self inflicted third degree burns on my arm. Upon release from the hospital about two weeks later, I did not stop self harming or my drug use. Although I was angry at my grandparents, the nurses, the doctors, and the rest of the world, I will always remember my counselor at the outpatient facility I attended after my hospitalization. He told me that he could see me, one day, driving a convertible down the freeway, happy, with my hair blowing in the wind. I thought that was so beautiful, and it gave me the tiniest little moment of hope that I could live in a reality other than the one I was in.

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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.