This will be the hardest piece of writing for me so far in my career, because I will attempt to delve into my own mental illness in an attempt to help those with a mental illness. Especially those who may consider bringing a weapon to school to harm others, or those who do not recognize the bully in themselves. Because I was a bully. And I know how hard and painful it is to be kind to others, when you have not been treated fairly in life from a young age. I would first like to reflect on a book that was considered mandatory reading for me in high school: A Separate Peace. Spoiler alert for those who have not read it, but this novel delves into the thoughts of a young boy who, for all intents and purposes, orchestrated the accident that caused his “friend” a broken leg. Thus damaging his “friend’s” sports career and psychological well-being, out of jealousy and self-hate. Please, if you can relate to the story of the protagonist, or if you cannot but are of an open-mind and understanding mentality, continue reading this blog. If stories such as Les Miserables, I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, or The Color Purple, with an underlying theme of forgiveness for the broken, do not appeal to you, please do not move forward. I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder when I was 22. I honestly believe I first developed it when I was 14. I distinctly remember the world becoming smaller, scarier, and darker. I knew something was wrong with me, but I did not know what, because in all honesty I thought diseases such as PTSD only affected soldiers, and mainly men. Not young Caucasian girls growing up in middle class society. I am extremely thankful to say that the most terribly beautiful moment that struck me to my core and made me want to receive treatment was when I was very young and my younger sister was in a car accident. This occurred after I developed my illness. She wanted to go to the beach near our house, and we were home alone, myself the babysitter. I didn’t care what she did I remember thinking, I was too wrapped up in my own pain. She left by herself by bicycle. After an hour or two, she called me letting me know that she was coming back home, but the chain on her bicycle kept falling off. I am ashamed to say, I told her too bad, I could do nothing about it. I remember this moment very vividly. The next call I received was from my younger sister’s cell phone, but it was not her voice. An older woman I did not know told me that my sister got into a car accident and that an ambulance was on the way. I later discovered that the bike chain broke while my sister was riding. She could not break as a car drove through a stop sign, hitting her. She rolled over the roof of the car, a nearby tree breaking her momentum. I was alone at home as this strange disembodied voice explained to me that she was going to go with my sister to the hospital, and hung up. Do you know what the worst feeling in the world is? The worst feeling in the world is looking in the mirror and seeing the reflection of your abuser. I thought I was justified in acting out my pain. I thought I was justified in all my actions, because I was a child living in an emotionally unstable environment. But I was wrong. My course of action was wrong. For all those bullies out there. I know your pain. I’ve been there. I’ve felt it. And I know the way to freedom. Freedom is finding a way to be the opposite of your abuser. Freedom is recognizing the history of violence, the history of cowardice, and confronting it with kindness and resolve. If you hated the abuse done to you as much as I did, do not surrender to it. Do not go quietly into that darkness. Fight it. It is not the easy path, but it is the right path. If I am better than the abuse done to me, then I know with certainty that whoever you are, whatever you have already done, you are better than the abuse done to you. You have a difficult road ahead of you, but once you make that decision to accept kindness and give kindness, you are one step closer to leaving your pain, and your abuser, behind you. Know, just as I know, with complete and utter certainty, that whoever you are, you ARE worthy of kindness and goodness, just as I am. Need help? In the U.S., call 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) for the National Domestic Violence Hotline. Need help? In the U.S., call 1-800-273-8255 for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. Follow Erin Nugent on Twitter: www.twitter.com/PlanetEmpathie 16/30
Time Spent In A Psych Ward
The first time I allowed myself to get a psychological evaluation at a hospital was one of the most normalizing experiences of my life. I have a mental illness, and I decided to take myself off of my medication without really working with my doctor on it. Why did I do that? Because the stigma was too great, and I truly felt that if the society I lived in could not accept that I needed to take medication and see therapists for the abuse I sustained when I was a little girl… I could not accept myself either. Have you ever seen “Silver Linings Playbook”? Spoiler alert: Bradley Cooper’s character stops taking his medication because he does not feel accepted for having bipolar disorder… and obviously he gets worse. The Catch 22 is pretty terrible for those with mental illness. Although I did tell my doctor, I know now that I should have worked with my doctor in gradually lowering myself off my medication instead of trying to get off “cold turkey.” But again, I did this because I did not feel accepted for sustaining emotional trauma from my past, and I desperately wanted to be accepted. I felt fine for about a month… but then the sense of extreme fear and panic attacks slowly and painfully returned. Negative thoughts of low self-worth began to haunt me, and I began to isolate myself… in fear that I would not be accepted and I would be told to “get over it.” Because… you know… abuse is so easy to “get over.” To offer a better perspective, think about this. If depression and anxiety were easy to get over… therapists wouldn’t exist, mental health facilities wouldn’t exist, and people would be able to be happy instantly. Because we are not able to change our emotions at the flick of a switch, whether you have a mental illness or not, this makes therapists and psychiatrists a necessity in society. One day I had a particularly bad panic attack and decided to go with my boyfriend to the emergency room to see if they could prescribe me an anti-anxiety medication. I cannot tell you the gratitude I felt toward the kind nurses and doctors who not only accepted that I had a mental illness… but made me feel that it made sense that I sustained emotional trauma from my past. They made me feel normal… something I hadn’t felt for a long time. One of my biggest fears is being isolated from others if anyone found out I had a mental illness, and thus I isolated myself, but these doctors and nurses were very understanding and I could tell sincerely wanted me to feel better. If it wasn’t for the kindness of the doctor I spoke to, I may not have decided to stay overnight and get evaluated by a team of psychiatrists and psychologists. I was also very scared to put my mental health in the hands of complete strangers, but the doctor I spoke to helped me realize that these strangers are a team of professionals who want to help me actualize my goal of obtaining a more positive outlook on life, and help me overcome my fear of being abused again. Do you know what is the best part staying a couple days in a mental health facility? It is not being stigmatized for having a mental illness. In a psych ward, no matter who you are, everyone is equal. Allow me to explain this. Everyone in a psych ward is vulnerable and sensitive to each other, because we are openly sharing what we perceive is the very worst part of ourselves in the slightest hope that we can find comfort and support in each other, and learn to live again. How often can you say that you learned and benefitted from a complete, random stranger? For example, I met an elderly woman in the ward, I would say in her late 60s, with at least one now-adult daughter. Her husband brought her in to the psych ward because of extreme anxiety. She heard voices, hallucinated, and was adamantly convinced that she was a bad mother and wife to the point of physically shaking and crying. She had extreme difficulty controlling her negative thoughts and often voiced her thoughts, which included berating herself by telling others how much of a bad person she was. Would you like to know how much of a bad person she was? She felt that if she relaxed a little and took care of herself that was wrong, her duty as a wife and mother was to only take care of her husband and child. Her selflessness helped me realize the importance of taking care of your own well-being. As Bell Hooks stated, “Knowing how to be solitary is central to the art of loving. When we can be alone, we can be with others without using them as a means of escape.” And this is what it is to have a mental illness. Most people with a mental illness are not violent or scary, they are simply people who feel that they have such a severely flawed character that they are “bad” and do not deserve “good.” These people tend to do things to without being fully aware… such as stay in an abusive relationship, become an alcoholic, or self-mutilate, among other things. When you do not see the worth in yourself, you tend to put your self-worth into the hands of others, who may not take such good care of it. This is never good, who can know your self-worth better than yourself? And this can result in a downward spiral, unless help is obtained. These were all truths I knew somewhere deep down, but when I first went to the emergency room I couldn’t see that. All I felt was the stigma associated with mental illness, which kept me from reaching out for help. It is really only through communicating and having