She was always a little different, my Mother. I love her, even now, after all the lies, chaos and pain. I feel she has been dragging me down into her rabbit hole of insanity for awhile now, which is why I  distance myself. But the distance has only seemed to make her worse, yet me somewhat better. I do, however drown myself in work, so I don’t really call that getting better, but rather just covering up the problem. My Mother is mentally ill. Her mental pain has manifested into physical self inflicted wounds. She is a picker, most of the time creating her own wounds. She has changed her skin color from the picking, she is 90% scars…all of which she created. She barely leaves her bed, which has created skin ulcers and open sores. It has been 5 months since her last shower and this is a woman who once took two showers a day. She is a pill addict. She abuses this drug and all it does is enhance the insanity. My Mother is only 65 years old, she makes it seem like time is almost up, that she will soon die. I try to get her out of the house, when I do, it is very difficult. She never leaves her bedroom , so when we go out to eat , or to a store, it is very strange. Its as if she cant adjust to people and she just acts strangely, its just so hard to explain. I feel so lost, and the only tears I cry are for her because she is my Mother and I Love her and even through all the pain, I want her so much to get better.  

I’m too scared to talk to a doctor, both financially and emotionally, and I just feel like I can’t talk to anyone about anything.

I was made a few years ago, though my body is sixteen years old. ‘m Julie’s daughter’s alternate personality, but Julie’s daughter is dead.

I’m living in a living carcass that’s not my own, and I don’t know what to do. Is there anyone else or any actual name for this? I’m scared that I’ll not have the ability to go to Heaven, or that Julie’s daughter won’t be there.

Keep reading

Three years ago my then 12 year old daughter started struggling with depression, poor self esteem that led to self harm. The cutting started as small cuts on her wrist pretty soon her entire arm was scarred. Things got worse when she made her attempt to take her life by taking a bottle of pills. This lead to a hospitalization followed by an eating disorder treatment program. Fast forward to now. she has been in the hospital 4 times, seen several doctors and therapists. She is taking a cocktail of meds which don’t seem to work. Her current doctor is puzzled and is asking for a second opinion. No official diagnosis has been given yet. They are treating Bipolar, depression, anxiety, mania and the list goes on. I have seen my beautiful 115 lbs. little girl change into 150 lbs. a lifeless zombie in a matter of months all due the side affects of the medications. When will this nightmare end?

My story started out with depression and self destruction. I have tried to commit countless times of suicides. I have stabbed myself and ODed so many times. I was institutionalized and been in group homes so many times. I’m also an addict of many forms.  Until one day I had been locked up in an institution and was given medication and my life has changed for the better. I was also given a monthly injection. It’s an opioid antagonist which counter reacts all narcotics and alcohol. I have been sober 9 months which is the longest for me.  Now I am happier and am leading a very normal life without self harm.

When I was young, I drew a black sheep amongst white ones all the time. Ive always felt that. Since the day I found out my red hair was different. That it wasn’t the norm… so that’s how I felt always, not normal. I get angry quickly. I get high highs - to the point where im too much for anyone and low lows - to the point where I cant even talk. I look for opinions and shrivel up when theyre not what I want to hear. I lock everything up in my conscience when I don’t feel like dealing. I drink it away or I lose reality when I get high. Im constantly pissed off at myself. I self harm. I make the people who love me feel bad for everything they do. I have a twitch, in my calves, my butt cheeks, my toes, my fingers, my face.

I did all of this, always thinking that if I kept it to myself it will eventually go away, trying to talk myself out of thinking that im crazy. Ive always wanted not to be crazy. A bump hit me at 18, when my boyfriend at the time was sleeping with my best friend…

Im nearly 20 and I feel like all I’ve done since it happened is bring it up. I don’t even wanna hear about it anymore… so why do I do it? No idea. I figured it was an attention thing, just like my self harm, just like my crazy explosions when I’m upset. Just to get someone to ask me if I’m okay. To care enough to love me.

…. I went totally crazy then, I turned into something I couldn’t explain, and I cant remember the 4 months after that. I became friends with both of them after that, still to this day im not sure what made me do it but im glad they are still in my life. I cant say the same for anyone else that knows that situation though.

I met my current boyfriend and a bit after that and he knew the situation and wasn’t okay about it, but he dealt with it. I started to get my twitches even worse, and anxiety attacks started to accompany me. It wasn’t until Christmas last year, things were horrible at work I had my worse attack yet. I got medicated and referred. I’ve had to go up on my meds once, I try my hardest to deal with my thoughts and my anxiety and my craziness.

I haven’t been to see anyone yet, but its to happen soon, I feel like a bi polar diagnosis is up for me as well. The annoyance with myself gets so bad at times, I hate that I can’t be apart from my thoughts. I hate that I’m stuck with the hypocrite/delusional person I am.

But… I’m only human. I have my faults, and I am one of the most loving and forgiving people you could ever come across. Its just no one really knows that until they get past my insecurities and mental issues.

I work. I have a really good job. I get excellent reviews and am labled a “role model” by my boss. I like that I’m really dependable and seem to have it all together.

I love. I have a wonderful partner and was recently engaged. It’s been a rocky relationship at times. I had some healing to do and some trust to establish, but I have found the love of my life. We have had an amazing 5 years together and have seen and done things that make me excited to be alive.

I nurture. I am a devoted and caring daughter to my parents. I am involved with my partner’s family and enjoy family celebrations. I am the “mom” to an adorable dog who challenges me constantly and loves me unconditionally.

I run. I just completed a half marathon shaving 2 hours off my previous time which was done when I was overweight and very unhealthy. I also hike, walk and participate in excercise classes. Workouts free me and usually I feel the best I will feel all day during a workout.

I hurt. I was born this way. I began hurting myself at about a year and a half, beating my head on the floor as a toddler, trying to make the “other” pain go away. I did not have words for that pain. Later, I pulled out my hair, eyelashes and eyebrows. The pain felt good- or at least better than the “other” pain. I began beating myself at about 7 years of age. The first time was with a trophy to my head. I still beat myself. The last time was last week…I’m now 47.

I cry. I have intense rages. I usually know they are coming these days. I’ve learned what it feels like to “build up” to the rage. On my happiest days, I have a sense of dread…I know what comes later, what comes next, the rage is just down the road. The pattern of being up high and then crashing down so very low is nothing new to me.

I long. My relationships are sparse. People try to reach out and get close, but I don’t allow much of that. I don’t trust easily, to put it mildly. It takes years for me to trust someone. Most often when I’ve let my guard down, I’ve been disappointed. There just aren’t many people I want to let into this world. I am close to four people. Four people know my story and are currently in my life: my parents, my partner, my counselor. 

I ache. I want to be understood. I want to scream out and make you understand that I’m bipolar and it’s really hard to stop and chat because I’m just trying to stay at work today. I am trying to get through the day without hurting myself, so please forgive me if I don’t seem friendly. I’m trying to just exist and not be grumpy toward you in the process. I’m trying to keep my secret to myself for most do not understand my world- and don’t care to. I’m trying to please you, to be the good employee and family member and friend…but it’s taking all I’ve got! I can’t talk to you about it because there’s a stigma…you’ll call me crazy, nuts, weird…and the truth is that I feel all of those things. I have a disease. It’s a disease in my brain. I had it as a small child. I have it now. I am trying to manage, to even excel. I want you to like me.

I relate. You feel odd. You know you are different. It’s not something you can talk about and when you do take the risk, you feel worse. I know your mind won’t stop. You think about hurting yourself and just causing some different kind of pain for a minute. You are not alone. I feel that way, too.

 What’s the reality that both choice and control are remotely similar when it comes to the working delicacies of our minds? Interestingly, to some, it is as simple as making a choice within the control of our own minds that can and does determine every bit of our behaviors, actions, decisions and ultimately our moments, our future and our beliefs. Hmm, scary. Here’s something else that’s scary – fear.

Fear is an innate, built in resource our minds have developed since the age of our primate ancestors. Without fear, we would not know or be able to recognize danger, escape from predators or sense probable hazardous – stand down situations. This is an innate emotional response and it is innate within all human beings. So why, then – are some people better at coping, dealing with, handling, facing, gripping, understanding, living alongside and accepting moments of – fear?

I’m going to let the pictures flow, let your senses begin to imagine and let the imagination of your minds eye enter a state where you can see rather than “think” you know, and imagine rather than read about, learn from any psychology book or boring lecture on the some grand new theology of the brilliance of our minds.

Now think about the word control and its association with fear. Scary. What is control? The definition of control according to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary is:
1. to direct the behavior of (a person or animal)
2. to exercise restraining or directing influence over
3. to have power over
again, interesting. And, scary.

So, if one is in control or controls another’s behaviors – the question posed is this, does the person whose behavior is being modified truly have a choice in the direction their mind is being directed? Is the reality of their perception being altered so deeply, that choice - in this equation, not really part of the reality process? Or maybe there is no reality; the reality is just an oblique, transparent, prism of optical illusion based on falsity and misled directives of messed up control, manipulation and skillful restraint and limitation? Are you picturing it? Can you envision it; with walls and blockages and suffering and inner torment? Can you hear it? Laughing hysterically and crying both at the same time; for no reason. Screaming on the inside but silenced out of.. ahh – there it is again - fear.

So let’s just add another dimension of control to an already feared, over-controlled (by many paradigms – including oneself) life dissociative, numbed, suicidal (at times), and self-destructive – with heavy threats of “bye- bye birdie if you ‘screw-up’!” Choice huh? That’s choice? Really? Wait, let me take a better picture in my mind, let me step further back on the red carpet of tunnel vision and slip further into the slimy grips of the venomous Serpent lurking in the shadows of the “what’s real” and the “what the heck!” So now, I see choice and control spinning torturously in a downward spiral of the lesser with me in the center; no – the corner – no the backlash - no in front – no everywhere.. wait – I can’t find me! Why? Oh, you bleeping dummy – it’s just your mind talking – take control of your mind and you will find yourself. It’s your choice!

But wait, the circularity of my statement just brought me back to my original question. Yet, now the consequences of knowledge are far worse than the power of not knowing; or was it the fear of not knowing? Who cares, it doesn’t matter really, does it? My clock has already begun to tick, my bye-bye birdie is chirping, the control modification squeezing me from me is only shaping new me’s and opening new doors of shut off, shut down and shut the bleep up’s. And let’s not forget the choice’s I am making in all this; avoidance, avoid, silence. Self-harm – continuous and perpetual never ending new ways of hurting, harming or damaging the body or mind. Laugh it off – smirk it out, push – push – push. Squeeze tighter – fight more intelligently. Round and round and round we go.

My choice, or my control? Both or neither? Parallel or opposite? What’s the definition of control again?

I was born with cerebral palsy, a condition that limits my physical abilities. Because of this, I am overweight. Throughout elementary school, I was bullied because I could not follow physical activities as well as other students. When I turned ten, my parents took me to see a psychologist because I was always crying. As it turned out, I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety.

I was bullied in every school I went to, which made my depression and anxiety worse. When high school came, I was friends with a very abusive girl. Once junior year came, I realized how abusive she was. All the stress between school work and my “friend” triggered my depression so badly that I spent 2/3 of my junior year at home, in my bed. I almost didn’t graduate with my class because of all the school I missed. I managed to pull myself back up and was able to graduate high school, however.

I started to play online games in my spare time. I was bullied in-game and stalked to my art website where the bullies would take my art and draw inappropriate things on it. I couldn’t deal with bullying anymore and began to cut. It started with a small cut just before my wrist, then another on my wrist. This was within the span of 2 years.

Then one day, I gave up cutting. I’ve been clean for almost 2 years now. I still take my medicine, but I am better than I was years ago.

I started self harming at the age of 11, i had no idea why it helped or that other people did it, so i did anything to hid it, i would write about how i wanted to die. i got really bad when i was 12/13 with suicide attempts. I was still writing in notebooks. i was on my 3rd note book. at  the age of 16 3 months off my 17th my parents found the books and looked at my wrist closely noticing scars then they saw my arm, concluding i was depressed and sent me to a counselor who said i had to go on meds to help with my depression, as that was my main mental illness, i was also diagnosed with OCD Bipolar Anxiety. i went to my doctor and asked why i was depressed and when i said bullying he replied that being bullied doesn’t make people depressed…  i hardly ever took the pills i felt even more like a freak having to take medicine to be happy so i looked more info about them up. i could o.d. so i saved them up and o.d. i was asleep for 2 days, my parents just thought i was on my period or just really sleepy. eventually i started to take them and they helped with my depression. i still have anxiety and bipolar but they’re manageable now. being on meds doesn’t make you any different to people who take vitamins, they’re pills to help you and give you what you need

Ever since I was about 12 years old my mother said I was changing. Until June of 2013 I had no clue what she meant. I knew that I was sad because of loosing my Aunt and Great Grandmother who died three years apart. I knew that school was difficult. When I look back on those times… I realized that I knew I was making “snap” decisions. But at that time, I didn’t know that there was more to come.

When I turned 13 and entered the 8th grade I decided to trust and talk to no one. I internalized my feelings to the point that I would explode in my room about every 2-3 months. I was so depressed that I would never clean my room. It sunk to high heavens. And when my mom got our dog to cheer me up my room got worse. It took “forever” to house train her so in the mean time she would poop and tinkle in my room. Not to mention we moved to be closer to my other Aunt and 4 cousins. I love my family to death, but I was in a bad “space” attitude-wise. I hurt them beyond repair and I’m still suffering because of it.

I was a APEX(top/gifted) student all through elementary school. I was MVP on all my sports teams. I had over 200 friends(that I could name) and more that I would consider acquaintances. Teachers loved me. Everyone did. But I was going through what I know now to be a mental illness.

I started out cutting myself with scissors at school. Then breaking the clips off of pen caps to use the broken piece to cut myself. Then(after no one would trust me with sharp objects) I turned to severe scratching. I would scratch until I bled. But it was like I was in a trance when I did it. No one and nothing could stop me. After being hospitalized 16 times for suicidal ideation and attempt, I knew I needed help. Especially after fighting my mother.

When I was 16 years old I was taken from my home for battery and taken to juvenile hall. I was in and out of juvenile halls and group homes for 2 years. For those 2 years I did things I never thought I would do. I will not mention them because I don’t want to stir any feelings in you(reader(s)). But I never thought in a million years that I would do these horrible acts or say horrible things to those whom I love.

On exactly 5 days after my 18th birthday, I was released from state custody and sent back to live with my mother. I didn’t want to tell her everything I learned about my illness at first. I didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. I was just happy to finally know the name of my illness. I came home with a month’s supply of medicine, clothes, books, and guilt.

Everything started out perfect. I would take my meds every day so I wouldn’t have to see ”things” that weren’t there or hear “them”. But I stopped after the month’s supply ran out. It started again. Finally I told my mother that I was diagnosed with severe Schizoaffective Disorder. She didn’t show my the sympathy that I’d gotten from doctors and nurses. But she showed empathy. Understanding that I was scared, she printed out more and more information about the illness. From which meds they have down to the worst and smallest side affects. I thank my lucky stars for her everyday.

What I’m trying to say is this:

If you or people around you are noticing a change in you, or  you find that things are becoming difficult…… Stop. Assess the situation. Look at all the factors/reasons. Then as for advice from a professional. If it’s a higher power, pray. If it’s your parents, ask. Don’t just sit on your soft squishy buttocks. SAY SOMETHING HELP SOMEONE.