I am diagnosed with bipolar disorder, acute anxiety, ADHD, PTSD and insomnia. I was diagnosed eight years ago after the sudden and tragic deaths of both my mother and friend within six months of each other. I attempted suicide almost a year to the day of my mother’s death. I was on life support for four days but I made it through. I have two boys, they were 8 and 13 at the time. I almost left them. I almost left them the way my mom left me. Both my mother and my friend that passed away committed suicide. It would take me many years and therapy and self love to even begin to forgive myself for that selfish choice I made. I always knew I was different. I always felt something was “wrong” with me. That I wasn’t like everyone else. Well I wasn’t like everyone else. It was a psychiatric nurse practitioner that took the time to properly diagnose me that helped me to understand my illnesses, she saved my life. I was actually relieved when I was diagnosed because I always wondered what was wrong with me, why I was different. Being diagnosed made sense to me and gave me hope, hope that my life and behaviors could make sense. I’ve been aware of my illnesses now for eight years. I have been on multiple medications for eight years. I go to all my medication management appointments, I’ve been in therapy for eight years, I have studied my illnesses, I have gone to intensive outpatient therapy, I talk about my illnesses. I do every thing I possibly can every single day to keep myself safe and healthy. But, the reality is I still have bad days. I’ve lost my health insurance several times and gone without my meds which resulted in me getting very sick. I call it my crazy when I get sick. Some days regardless of my meds I still have mania, depression, anxiety, PTSD, and severe insomnia. The thing is I don’t give in to my illnesses. I don’t let them win. They can’t win. I am not my illnesses, I am more than my diagnoses. I want to help others. I want to be an example of what it looks like to live a healthy life while living with mental illness. So I’ll write here on my good days and bad and hope that just maybe one person reads it that needs a glimmer of hope.

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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Today is my tenth anniversary. One thing I’ve found surprising about my journey is how many times I’ve been diagnosed. 

PTSD, depression, anxiety, PMMD, and the latest culprit - bipolar disorder. I was diagnosed with these over a period of ten years, and each was supposed to be an explanation for the last. Each was going to bring hope to my case. 

None of the treatments have worked - actually, three years after the bipolar diagnosis I managed to have a full-on psychotic episode that left me in hospital and doctors scratching their heads. I’m a good girl - I don’t drink, don’t do drugs, I’ve never missed a dose of meds - but here I am, suffering regardless.

It’s the tenth anniversary of my first diagnosis, and I have next to no idea what’s wrong with me. I don’t blame anyone for that, since I have no clue myself. I can give you a list of symptoms a mile long, but I can’t tell you what it is and I certainly can’t tell you how to fix it.

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My name is Gthreesongs why because I don’t really like sharing my name because of things that happened in the past. I probably suffer from bipolar disorder or depression and anxiety and maybe Schizophrenia but there is hope for people that suffer from it just have good friends and love life and your family or if something is happening where you don’t like your family chose your friends.

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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I first thought of suicide in grade school and have struggled with depression, anxiety, and bipolar disorder for over 10 years. My life was controlled by fear and I have struggled with negative coping skills for years. Self-harm was a way to control the pain I felt and then I ended up turning to substances to numb myself. Because of some childhood experiences and traumas in my late teens and early twenties I developed severe PTSD. I have had several attempts to take my own life with the most recent one being extremely severe over six months ago. I used to hate myself and think the world was better off and that I was a victim of a cruel world. In June of this year I took some of the power back. I decided to learn from my past and look at the positives.

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It was June 2003 when I was first diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder which, no doubt, had gone undiagnosed for my entire life. My life was sprinkled with extreme anxiety attacks, OCD, manic episodes, and especially severe depression. By the time I had my own family – a wife and two boys of my own – my depression had gotten out of control.

For me depression was and is extended periods of time inside a six foot cube with no stimulus. No light sneaking in through my lids. No sound other than shallow, rushed breaths. No breeze touching my face. Alone.

But depression is just as much about ‘fullness’ as it is about emptiness. I struggled with an overload of negativity that reached deep into my soul to drag out any signs of hope and love. All at once I would be inundated with anger for what’s happened and about to happen, sorrow for those I’ve lost - some in the most tragic of ways - and the deep loss of who I thought I was. The loss of being the go-to-marketing-guy at work, the loving husband, the fun dad, the brave youth hockey coach, and the bread winner. 

As time passed the depression showed up in suicidality and ultimately attempts leaving me hospitalized five different times. I was put on Short-term disability three years in a row and forced out on Long-term disability in 2006. All the while, the doctors toiled to find the right mix of meds that would stabilize me and help me have as much of a normal life as possible. They added 32 courses of Electroconvulsive Therapy which jarred me out of the most severe depression and suicidality.

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It was June 2003 when I was first diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder which, no doubt, had gone undiagnosed for my entire life. My life was sprinkled with extreme anxiety attacks, OCD, manic episodes, and especially severe depression. By the time I had my own family – a wife and two boys of my own – my depression had gotten out of control.

For me depression was and is extended periods of time inside a six foot cube with no stimulus. No light sneaking in through my lids. No sound other than shallow, rushed breaths. No breeze touching my face. Alone.

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Plain and simple, I have bipolar disorder and anxiety and I’m here to say, I’M STABLE! THERE IS HOPE!  I owe my stability to God first, then my family, my hard work and determination to get and stay stable and of course my physiologist and psychiatrist! THERE IS LIFE WITH A MENTAL ILLNESS! DO NOT GIVE UP!

I’m a 04-05 OIF Veteran who is diagnosed with PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Panic, and recently Bipolar disorder. I’m a bit confused, anxious , scared, and uncertain of a lot of things. My actions in the past has had a yoo yoo effect, ups and downs and now I just want to stay home all the time because I don’t really trust anyone anymore. I had some untrusting situationships, started drinking more than usual to escape my feelings. I’m trying to understand myself at this time, I have other physical health problems also so I have days that I may not be able to get out the bed besides bathroom and eat if that. I’m a very private person so I don’t open up to people much. I do have therapy and I was starting to open up to a friend but that went south do to my actions.

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