I wanted it to come crashing down, my life. I wanted it to come falling down, and it did, in a spectacular way. In a loud, magnificent outburst of pathetic loss and disappointment, it would shatter into pieces and lay there for people to look at, jeer at, stumble over and kick around. But then, some might help. Some might be forced to help because I would have made a mess, such a huge mess that would affect a few, and it would be the job of some to come in and clean up this mess – no, not that. To direct me to clean it up. The area of the tremendous crash is sectioned off and secluded from view so it’s just me and those who are supervising me. The work is both easy and hard, quick and time-consuming. It is transformative. It’s what I need. It is what my addled brain could not give myself when it was needed most.

A few of those affected by my exploded life are neither happy or satisfied or placated with this result. They want to imagine me punished, not imagine me repairing. They had their ego, personality, political self, vanity, future, past, identity, ambition tied to what I destroyed with my life. As a group, they want to see all those things damaged in me in the most public way possible. Repairing myself is antithetical to their thinking. And yet as individuals, they can’t understand how they helped bring the muddled and jumbled justifications for destroying my life a bit closer to realization. Final red button detonation lays with me, though. I take full responsibly.

What led to this, then? How did a ‘community leader’, as one newspaper reporter described me, make the decision to destroy a life so seemingly well-crafted and outwardly successful? The quick answer is that it was falling apart due to me being in a constant state of mania induced by my prescribed serotonin reuptake inhibitor, or SSRI, that was given to me for postpartum depression three years prior. Later, much later, after my life was being rebuilt, I was diagnosed with cyclothymic disorder (low/high mood swings). Being on SSRIs creates a prolonged occurrence of mania, making it hard to have good judgement and understand consequences.

While on a high dosage SSRI and suffering from undiagnosed cyclothymic disorder, I was indicted with a felony level five for theft of $6,700 at the nonprofit where I was Director. I never denied the mismanagement. I had given everything to this nonprofit and it was failing at all levels. My manic brain rationalized, “Well, everything else that’s happening in my life is horrible, let’s just burn it all down. Don’t pay attention to anything. If no one cares, why should you? If everyone has given up, then shouldn’t you? Nonprofit that you love slowly dissolving? Check. Relationships in general a huge mess? Check. Thinking a jumbled mess? You betcha! Then destroy it all! Don’t pay attention to what credit card you’re using – yours or the nonprofits – who cares! It’s all failing anyway! Make it happen faster and then maybe someone will help”.

Good thinking, right? No. It’s horrible, jumbled, addled thinking. The thinking of a desperate person who needs help, which is what I was and what I needed. I’ve been in situations where I’ve needed help before. I’ve called therapists and made appointments. But this time, I could not figure it out. Unless you’ve been in that state of mind, and few have, it’s impossible to understand how far out of reach help can seem.

After the indictment, I was sentenced to therapy and parole. First, I had meetings with my parole officer who, without any exaggeration, saved my life. I hit a very low bottom after the publicity of the court case, and the Officer was there to help me stabilize. If it wasn’t for her careful guidance in those first months, I’m not sure how I would have fared. My therapist and my psychiatrist diagnosed me with cyclothymic disorder, which opened my eyes to what mental injury is and changed my life in many tremendous ways. The medication I’m now on has stabilized my moods and brought me control over my life. That coupled with therapy has created demonstrable life improvement. Change has touched every corner of my life and spilled over into those lives around me, with friends and family going into therapy or changing direction in life or even seeking help for mental health issues themselves that they had been grappling with but were afraid to acknowledge.

I didn’t seek help the right way. I exploded my life and created a mess. I made huge, gigantic mistakes that will take a long time to undo. Some might never be undone. I take full responsibility for them all. And I take full responsibility for my recovery while at the same time acknowledge with immense gratitude and appreciation the work the Officer, my therapist and my psychiatrist have done and continue to do.