I have had panic attacks since 1973 and also have depression; in 1982 I finally found treatment that worked for me–and have told other sufferers about my experience, hoping to remove the stigma for all and get treatment for those who suffer.  My family (both paternal and maternal genetics) has three documented generations of panic disorder, depression and related anxiety disorders afflicting  ten individuals.  As a child I saw my father help several of his friends get help for their mental health issues.  I did not realize that he suffered  from panic attacks and understood their pain very well; they were all men of the “Greatest Generation” and mental health was not discussed except in desperate private conversation.  I did not know that I would experience the terror of panic disorder myself as a young mother of three preschoolers. When my diagnosis was made at the at a anxiety disorders clinic, the pre admission questionnaire asked about other family members who had similar symptoms….the many phone calls to relatives unearthed the mental health issues among us.  Since then, I vowed  to end the silence and help others when I can.  Sadly, this past week, one of my family has committed suicide because of mental health issues.   My hope is that we will, in his memory, get more help for those who need help.

I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety since I was in 7th grade. I lost a group of friends and felt very alone in the world. I withdrew from everyone else. I tried to solve my problems on my own because I believed that talking about how I was feeling (sadness, loss of interest and motivation, hopelessness) showed that I was weak and therapists were weird. I believed in the stigma because it’s what I knew. I started seeing a therapist because I took a mental health assessment at my physical and apparently didn’t do so well. My therapist, however, couldn’t make time for me as much as I needed it. This only fueled my stigma. I thought all therapists were like that. I stopped going. High school started and I got very depressed. I lost all hope and didn’t see a point in living. In the beginning of sophomore year, I was suicidal. I cut myself frequently and just hated myself. My parents noticed and took me to the emergency room. There, it hit me. My dad and mom were crying. I scared everyone. So many people cared about  me. I wasn’t alone. I had to try for them. It was the most emotional night, back in September of 2013. I saw a therapist regularly that truly made a difference in my life. I was put on medication to help with my depression and anxiety. It took a lot of hard work and different medications and doses but after a while, it began to work. I coped. I was able to function. I had hope for a brighter future. I can now say that I am stronger. I am no longer majorly depressed. I recently had an appendectomy and in the appendix, they found a carcinoid tumor. I was scared. I was only 18 and had already been touched with cancer. After seeing an oncologist, my results showed no signs of other tumors in my body. I was relieved but in a bad place. I had an existential crisis and felt myself slipping back into a downward spiral. This time, however, I went to the counselor at my college. I didn’t want to be in a dark place, feeling hopeless and lonely. I got help and started talking about it. I am most proud of myself for seeking help because I knew I needed it. I’ve come a long way since middle school. I am a psychology major and not sure what I want to study but I know that I want to help end the stigma. It is admirable to seek help when you are feeling depressed or anxious. I see that as extremely strong, brave, and courageous. We need to stand up to society and stop the stigma together. 

I used to stand glaring into Stigma’s Window, sucked and trapped into the view. All those myths about mental health, wrapped around me and written into my mind’s chalkboard. Just recently, that handwritten scribble of beliefs was finally erased. This is when that chalkboard became blank once again, starting fresh - no longer standing outside of Stigma’s Window, only after being diagnosed with bipolar disorder type II, anxiety and social anxiety.

My history is long and from going from my memories to written down in my book of history - a history of mood swings, stress, self-harm, suicidal thoughts, poor eating habits and a habit disorder. Although Stigma’s Window is the view for many in the world, intersecting with Stigma Road, I have finally stepped away from its view after my recent experience.

Ashamed and made guilty by my diagnosis and bad habits, I felt like I hit the bottom of a valley - and I sunk deeper when confronted. Confronted harshly and sternly by an individual - questioning lies I told while manic along with other signs of mania, though not known at the confrontation, and interpersonal struggles - was the day I got stuck at the bottom of the valley and felt like I was sinking into quicksand with no way out. My expression and nervous system was frozen as tears that I trapped, pushed back too far for too long, finally raced down my cheeks.

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I want to take a moment to share the storms that I have been through, especially over the last year. I want to share my story in hopes of breaking stigma on mental illnesses and to open the door for those who don’t understand it. I truly believe God has provided me with an opportunity to open up and advocate for those who struggle mentally.

It’s hard for me to know when my personal struggles really began; it probably started out as mild OCD when I was young but how was I to know that I wasn’t just anal and an over-analyzer? I remember when my OCD began to take form into the obsession of body image and food intake during my last year of high school. I began counting, checking, worrying, and constantly thinking about what I was putting into my body and the effect it created on how I looked. Nobody, myself included, realized that I was sick; the people in my life just thought it was how I was.

Eventually, my eating disorder took over my life. I became destructive to my body, the very beautiful creation of God, in order to try to sustain an image I was never satisfied with. Priorities and relationships were put on the back burner to fuel my obsession. I became depressed and anxious, lacking energy and ambition in all areas of my life. Maybe it was the eating disorder and OCD that covered up the cycles I was mentally going through though; times of darkness and despair following moments of joy and love of life and all in it.

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The reason I share this is to shine light on a dark subject so others will know there is always hope and hopefully to help end the stigma of mental illness.  By overcoming the stigma, people will reach out and get the help and recovery that is so desperately needed.  There is no shame in having an illness.

Devastated.  Hopeless.  Those are two words that describe the emotions our family felt at hearing our son having a serious mental illness. My family was tragically blind-sided and affected by the mental illness of our adult son a few years ago.  Mental illness might as well be an equal opportunity employer for it is no respecter of persons.  Our son had a run of the mill average home life.  He was raised in a happy and healthy two parent home with Christian values.  Growing up our son had access to extracurricular activities:  Little League ball, football, high school soccer, hunting, horses, friends, church activities and camps, etc.  We were the typical American family.

As moms, I believe God gifts us with a sixth sense for our children.   I always knew something wasn’t “quite right”.   I couldn’t put my finger on it.  So as any mom, I dismissed those feelings and moved on.  As a child, my son was a highly anxious little boy who was a “lover not a fighter” for he was always concerned about others.  That quickly changed as a teen.  He gradually became the son who was irrational, rage-filled, and virtually impossible to be around.  No one including his sister could bear to be around him for it was like walking on eggshells in our home.  Sadly, there was no peace.  I tried testing at a regional mental health coop, private counseling, a three week wilderness camp in the mountains of North Carolina, church camps, private school, and anything and everything we could think of to put him on the right track.  He was never settled and never happy.  So much went on over those years, I will have to save it all for a book when I retire.

Things started coming to a head for when he was 21 for he had a psychotic break.  We quickly found out that getting treatment for the mentally ill is not that easy even with insurance.  Without a strong and persistent family support system, many sufferers end up homeless (60% of homeless are estimated to have a mental illness) or end up in the judicial system.  At the age of 23, it took a suicide attempt before a hospital would finally admit him.  After three hospitalizations, multiple pharmaceutical trials, ECT treatments, countless therapy sessions with a great psychiatry team, a strong family support system, and unending prayers, our son is finally in recovery and we have regained a son we thought we would never see again.

He, much like others with a life-long illness, will always have to stay on top of his illness.  He has to avoid stressful situations, stay on his meds, maintain a relationship with his medical team, and continue to have a strong family support system.  He is a survivor and he is my hero.

It is nothing he did or we did to cause his illness.  Unfortunately, he was genetically predisposed to this illness and drew the short end of the stick.  His brain chemistry was not functioning properly.  Sadly, it was much like my late dad who had too little dopamine and developed Parkinson’s; whereas, my son has too much dopamine and developed schizo-affective disorder.

God has allowed us to travel this journey to remind others and their families battling mental illnesses to never give up.   There is always hope.

If you need help or know someone who needs help, contact NAMI.ORG.  They can assist you or your loved one in finding the path back to mental wellness.

-Karen

When I was a child, I was the happiest kid around. It all changed when I became a teenager. I became so depressed that I couldn’t make myself get out of bed some days. Other days, I’d become so anxious that I couldn’t function. I began self-harming when I was 15. I kept it a secret for a long time but eventually, I slipped up and my mother found out. She immediately set up an appointment with a psychiatrist for me. I remember I kept thinking “What will happen if my friends find out I’m going to see a shrink?” I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety, started on medication, and forced to meet with countless therapists. I resented all of it. I told no one because I was afraid my friends wouldn’t want to associate with me anymore. I was very angry and resentful about being forced into it and during those first few years, I never saw a therapist more than once or twice. I’d always tell my mom there was something wrong with each of them and she would take me to the next one. I was so scared that people would judge me or look down on me that I didn’t even want help. Unfortunately this is the case for many people. The stigmas in society against mental illness prevent many people from seeking help. 

I’ve continued to struggle for the past 6 years. I developed new symptoms and some of the old symptoms worsened. I’m currently diagnosed with bipolar disorder, depression, anxiety, and ADD. I’ve had times when I withdrew from the world and felt absolutely worthless, I’ve dealt with the highs and lows of bipolar disorder,  I’ve struggled with anxiety attacks, and I’ve had countless relapses in my struggle to overcome self-harming which had become an addiction for me. Over the years, I’ve found out that many people really do stigmatize people with mental illness. I’ve had conversations with people who were unaware of my issues who referred to people with mental illnesses as “crazy.” I’ve had situations where I’ve made a new friend only to inform them of my diagnoses and watch them quickly drift away.

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No one should feel ashamed of who they are and how they are feeling. Whether it be based on appearance, age, ethnicity or background, individuals should embrace their flaws and humble their strengths. Unfortunately, dozens of people mentally suffer from the judgments of spectators. In response, they shun themselves from society to avoid the guilt that comes with being stigmatized. This often leads to deep levels of depression. Unwilling to seek help from even family and close friends, healing becomes close to impossible. In this day and age, people deserve to receive adequate support that is convenient and easy to use. 

I have been there. I battled with my severe mental illness for a while … until I realized I was not alone and received the push to slowly do something about it. 

I dealt with past depression and consequentially symptoms of stigma. I know firsthand how difficult it is to seek help and how quickly one can be consumed in isolation. After my healing process all I wanted to create was a network where users can express themselves without the fear of judgment. It was so powerful for me connecting with others that were experiencing similar circumstances. However, it took a while for me to gain enough motivation and finally discuss my problems with people.

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And I knew I wasn’t right 

So I planned on going that Friday night 

And I knew I wasn’t okay

Making it the perfect place for me to stay 

See, for most, a mental hospital isn’t a choice 

It’s one of those things where you are left without a voice 

Brought there suddenly against your will

Then before you know it, you are given a bunch of random pills 

But for me, it was where I was supposed to be

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