our personal journeys

I know that my personal mental health journey is different from others.  Everyone has a different journey.  Speaking from the perspective of someone who was talked into an intervention over a decade ago, it took me a few years to feel like I was in the place I felt was right for me.  Looking back, during the dawn of Prozac prescriptions in the nineties, I had others trying to persuade me into getting help.  I remember an old boss taking me to dinner at the Dalai Lama's brother's old restaurant in Bloomington, Indiana and telling me she was 'worried about me.'  She shared some personal stories of taking an antidepressant and her scientist husband explained the science of it.  I was struggling in my courses and managing a store.  I'd often miss class because someone else would skip their shift.  I was working another job at a bookstore that I loved.  I was socializing and on the go at all times.  I was probably manic and not even aware of it. I was being diagnosed with Hashimoto's disease and hypothyroidism.  I remember being held down on a table and having a bunch of needles inserted into my neck and having biopsy tissue withdrawn from nodules.  My neck was swollen like a bullfrog's and I had to go into work because nobody could cover my shift for me.  I remember dating a nice PhD student from Barcelona and he reached out to friends about his concern for me months after we went our separate ways.  I remember a university doctor putting me on trazadone because I stopped sleeping.  There were all these precursors that I reflect on now and it's like the mystery of mental illness was unfolding with each year...

Once I started different treatments, the diagnosis varied from doctor to doctor.  I must have been labeled about five different illnesses.  Maybe even more.  And of course there were my mere circumstances as well.  I still can't even speak of my circumstance.  It stifles me. I've tried to bring it up in therapy and I cannot even speak.  It's just ART I guess.  I dunno...  Art and mental illness.

I can at least breathe again normally.  I learned some helpful breathing exercises in the hospital once.  When I feel overwhelmed I can concentrate on my breathing and not become panicked.  It works, at least most of the time.

As I continue on my life journey, I have great awareness of the implications of bipolar disorder and can finally recognize symptoms when they appear again.  I have a support system, a psychiatrist who listens and respects me, a therapist who has known me for several years now, and certain people in my life I can talk to.  There's not very many I can talk to, but hopefully as I continue my life journey I can locate others.  It's a matter of connecting with them, n'est-ce pas?