I have overcame so much in my life, childhood trauma and abuse,foster care, drug addiction, homelessness, incarceration, and mental illness. In 2016 I sought treatment for bipolar disorder, I also decided to pursue my undergraduate degree in psychology on a pursuit to become an Licensed Professional Counselor, I want to provide affordable treatment to those that need it most in our society. I am now in graduate school studying mental health counseling. I could not have done this without my medications, they saved my life and changed me for the better. 

Some people say my story is sad, some say I’m lucky and strong to have made it through everything I have experienced. I have a great mom, and great friends, but since age 10, I have suffered from bipolar disorder. I was misdiagnosed many times until I was finally correctly diagnosed at age 18. I was miserable until I was diagnosed correctly because the treatment wasn’t meant for bipolar disorder, it was meant for things like anxiety, anger problems, and depression. I’m not going to lie; it honestly took every bit of strength I had to talk to my parents and tell them that I needed help. Whenever I talk about it now, I still feel kind of weirded out because some of my friends and my step dad’s side of the family give me weird looks. I shouldn’t have to be ashamed or feel like I’m a freak when I’m around them. Every day is a new battle, but I’ve made it through and I’m loving life, and you can too. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.

“Mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of, but stigma and bias shame us all” -Bill Clinton 

I am a 30-year-old female with bipolar disorder and I am here to share my story of living with this mental health condition.

By the age of 16 years old, I had probably been diagnosed with every mental illness out there and taken every medication possible. It wasn’t until I was 24 years old and in early recovery from addiction, that I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. It took me a long time to accept the fact that I had this diagnosis. No one understood what I was dealing with. I never knew if I would wake up happy or depressed. I did tons and tons of research on bipolar disorder and found that it is partially genetic, so I decided to do some digging and look into my family. I found out that my great grandmother had died by suicide at the age of 24. My father had told me he didn’t want me to know because he blamed himself for my mental illness.

I look back, and always ask, “why me?” I feel like I was hit with the stick that gave me a mental health condition and a substance abuse disorder. Being one of three girls, I always felt like the black sheep of my family. I was always messing up and getting into trouble, especially when I would become manic. To me, mania is an outer body experience and I loved the feeling. In a matter of two weeks I spent over $20,000 because of my mania.

I have learned that bipolar disorder is not my life—it’s just part of who I am. I am not shy about it and I do public speaking about my illness. Now at the age of 30, I am a licensed master social worker working with individuals with mental health conditions. Mental illness is not something we can help and education is the key factor in getting others to understand what we are dealing with. I am finally stable on my medication and am doing the best I have been in a long time.

Even though my life isn’t where I thought it would be, coming to terms with my bipolar disorder was a major accomplishment. Don’t get me wrong—I still have my ups and downs and I still have a lot of symptoms that are very difficult to manage. NAMI is such an amazing organization with everything they do and I want to thank NAMI for always providing services and educational material to better help understand and deal with bipolar disorder.

Remember, you are not your mental illness, it is just a part of you. Stay strong and don’t stop fighting.

Hello, I’m Phil. I’m a member of NAMI Baltimore and a Disabled U.S. Marine Corps Vet Living with Bipolar Disorder, Major Depression, P.T.S.D. and A.D.D. and I’d like to share part of my recovery story.

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This year has been the year I’ve really worked on my recovery and my overall mental health. From a very young age I was depressed, fascinated with death and constantly anxious. I developed major body image issues as a child that turned into an eating disorder. I grew up with a biological father who was an addict, alcoholic, abusive and mentally ill with Bipolar Disorder.

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The idea of having a Bipolar Disorder stung me for a long time. When I’m feeling down, sometimes I feel the pressures of the stigma revolving around my mental illness. I always felt like there was a “normal” Valerie or a status quo that I had to

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My name is Bek. I am a 34-year-old mother who has PTSD and postpartum depression, as well as unspecified bipolar disorder. For the first time in my life I actually feel somewhat stumped when it comes to writing about my mental illness and the road of recovery. I started attending NAMI meetings as part of an outpatient program, which was proceeded by my first ever manic episode and my bipolar diagnosis. 

Depression has been a part of my life since puberty and high anxiety layered itself on top of that. Sharing my story with others has been part of my overall healing and I hope by writing this that someone out there feels less alone. The episodes are real, the panic is real, the mental strain and trauma is real. You get the picture. 

I feel like my emotions have always overwhelmed me, struggling to “get out of my own mind” and did not actively seek any mental help until my mid twenties.  I initially sought out cognitive behavioral therapy which was something very foreign to me. Change your habits, change your thoughts, feel better, right?  It allowed me to move through some of the issues that had grown deep roots in my psyche and medication was prescribed to work in combination with the therapy. I didn’t really care what I put in my body. I felt like I was in permanent survival mode but at least I was taking steps to “feel better.”  I survived. I also self-medicated with marijuana, which seemed to help keep mania at bay and in general made me feel like I could handle life better.

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            My name is Jennifer and I am a recovered mental illness survivor—

            I have endured severe mental illness for over half my life.  During that time, I suffered from clinical depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, schizoaffective disorder, and borderline personality disorder.

            Due to the depression, my behaviors ranged from excessive crying to excessive sleeping to suicide attempts.  I felt feelings of worthlessness, hopelessness, and helplessness.  All I thought I wanted to do was die.   But in fact, what I really wanted was help with overcoming my severe sadness.

            During my manic states, I endured impulsive, spontaneous, and irresponsible behaviors.  I felt on top of world.  I felt excessive amounts of energy.  I had racing thoughts.  I had delusions of grandeur.  I’ll be honest.  It felt great to be so high, but it is also very dangerous.  Risky behaviors can lead to much endangerment of self and others.

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I was first diagnosed with major depressive disorder when I was 13 years old. By the time I reached 16, a few more labels were added to the MMD. These included borderline personality disorder, bipolar disorder, post traumatic stress disorder and OCD. Fun stuff. Medication was the only treatment available at that time. My parents decided the best place for me to be was hospitalized in the mental health unit of a large teaching hospital. I felt and thought the reason for such a drastic change in my life was for their convenience, not what was best for me.

Little background, my father, a surgeon, was diagnosed with severe bipolar disorder, treatment was medication. When the medication no longer controlled the symptoms, he would stop working and sit staring blankly at the television for about 3 months. At some point, my mother would notice and send him out of town for a series of ECT. He would return from his “vacation” zombie like but after a few weeks or so, would return to his baseline personality. He always had a flat affect most of the time.

So, apparently I inherited the gene or genes for mental illness of one name or another.

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