I am a 56 year old mother and very proud grandmother of three. I have struggled with anxiety nearly my whole life. When I was a child, my anxiety caused me to overeat and I was an obese little girl, tipping the scales at 200 pounds in 5th grade. My family has a history of anxiety and my mother did not have the strength or support that we have today. She was a woman of the “valium era” and didn’t drive or work outside of the home. She had little recreation. She took care of her eight children and worked tirelessly in our home.

Even with the fear I always had inside of me, I still had some inner strength and a need to be a voice for others, especially children. When I was a young mother, I was so infatuated by my beautiful children I didn’t recognize that they too, had anxiety issues. My son did not present to us, his teachers, etc. until high school, when his struggle was too hard to bear and he began acting out. After two years of college, he met a woman who was strong to his weak, outspoken to his backwardness; a take the bull-by-the-horns sort of a person. After a brief relationship, she became pregnant and there was an immediate wedding. We were told just to come on a certain date-it was all planned out without our input or advice at all.

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I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder when I was 12, but I had had problems with depression, manic episodes since I was 3. I had a hard time growing up, my father didn’t except my situation and just thought I was a bad kid, I was abused until I was 17 by him. My mother tried to help me, but at the time, she didn’t know how. I was put in hospitals frequently. I had three stays over nine months long each, and many shorter stays as well.

I was in a state hospital for a year straight. Most of my childhood was spent in mental institutions, and as an adult, I have been twice. When I was not in them, I was home, getting into major trouble. I remember being violent towards others, mostly family that was only trying to help. I was constantly in trouble at school, got suspended 8 times in two years, and expelled for half a semester.

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When I think back on my mental illness, I can remember symptoms from a very early age. I grew up in a very different environment than most – a log cabin in Alaska. I realize now that my mother suffered from deep, debilitating depressions and my father had no tolerance for her suffering. My father, on the other hand, probably lived with borderline personality. Both of them suffered with PTSD for different reasons: My mother had a father who molested her when she was young. My father had multiple issues that were catalysts for PTSD but the most prevalent that I remember is that mother had to wake him with the tip of a broom handle or he would jump up in a panic and knock her across the room before he realized what was happening. He often would cry out in panic in his sleep – something I never witnessed him do in his waking hours no matter the danger.

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I recently lost my brother to suicide on October 1st, 2013.  I got the call from a coroner on October 2nd.  Actually the suicide note was dated Sept. 26, so who knows.  But that is beside the point. 

David began having problems in his late 20’s and early 30’s and was quote “diagnosed with delusional paranoia” at the time.  I believe it was schizophrenia, but the doctor couldn’t talk to us due to “confidentiality”.  I won’t go over all the problems and long stories over the next 5 years, but it began to be clear he couldn’t stay where he had come back home:  my parents. 

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I have always had what I believed to be the world’s worst case of insomnia.  Even as a young child, my mind would race at bedtime, keeping me awake late into the night.  As a teenager and ever since, I have regularly gone through periods of depression.  There always seemed to be some explanation though, something that was a “trigger”, and so I found ways to cope.  Occasionally, when it was too much to cope with on my own, I sought help and after a few weeks of medication, it was gone and I was fine.  On top of that, while I was in college, I started having anxiety attacks.  I didn’t know what they were at the time.  They were scary and landed me in the ER several times, but again, there always seemed to be a “trigger”.  Like most college students (or so I thought!), I carried huge credit load, had extra-curricular activities, multiple part-time jobs, and could get it all done and then some on only 4 hours of sleep each night.  I struggled through both my undergraduate studies and during law school, especially with the very sudden death of my father, but as always, I made it through.  Ironically, I ended up working in mental health law, a move that would be both prophetic and life-altering.

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I have had mental illness most of my life. Currently, I am taking natural medicines that are helping me greatly (will not name or suggest them for security reasons). I believe in miracles and my whole life is a miracle. I still get down for times which are shorter than in the past, but I do so for real life reasons. Sometimes, like around this Christmas Season of 2013, I miss my wife and son - specifically, each passed away in different years a long time ago. But I think of the good times we had together and these memories are still oh so real to me.  

By Lisa Hernandez. The mother of a 21 year old son who suffers from Bi-Polar disorder.

I can remember so well the first time my son showed an interest in Music. He wasn’t even two years old, when he picked up drum sticks and began to play the mini drum kit my husband had purchased for his older brother.He would pull himself up by grabbing the end of the bed post and position himself  behind the kit with sticks in hand. Then he would carefully hit each drum. He could tell the difference in the sounds.  First the Snare with it’s tin ringing. And then the tom-tom’s, with their resonance. He loved the crash of the symbols.  I would often help him by pressing the kick pedal of the base drum and the hi-hat. He loved the sounds!

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In July 2008, my son’s life as he knew it changed forever.  With a mere 3 weeks remaining before graduation from a respected college in Boston, Bipolar 1 came and wrenched the hoped for and planned upon future out of his clutches.  A young man, Eagle Scout, full of hopes and dreams, was changed into a confused and angry shell, with no recognition of the way out.  Our family surrounded him, stunned, saddened yet scorned.  We stood steadfastly beside him as confused and angry as he.  What could possibly cause this change in life?

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It’s hard to tell my story, not that I don’t want to. It’s very hard to put into words what it’s like to live in my world, raising a child with mental illness. Everyday is something different, once I think I have it all figured out then it changes. I know I am afraid to show people my troubled world. I know there are many families like mine. Afraid of what people might think of my husband and I as parents. Wanting people to think our life is normal. We spend every day walking on eggshells, holding our breath waiting for the eggshells to crack. My son has BPD borderline personality disorder and he’s 18. I say my family has been in survival mode for the last six years. It’s actually been eighteen years. We are a military family and that can be difficult for healthy children, always moving can be extremely difficult for a child with any mental disorder.

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