Yes, I know, you hate Eli Lilly. In fact, you hate all “big pharma;” I know. But right now you have a chance to get your hands on a scholarship that pays for tuition, books and lab fees and I really think you should consider it. The Eli Lilly Reintegration Scholarship is available to those living with bipolar disorder or a schizophrenia-spectrum disorder.
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This morning I was watching Perception, which is a TV show wherein the lead character has schizophrenia. He, like most of us with a mental illness, is trapped inside his head – trapped inside his mental illness. Oh, he functions and everything, but his mind is still trapped inside a sick brain.
And this is how mental illness is. My friend called it the ball and chain. He says I do really well for a person who’s always weighted down like that.
And this morning, one of the characters in the TV show said, “I spend a lot of my time finding puzzles hard enough to get him [the lead character] out of his head.”
When I heard that, I burst into tears.
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I’m not sure that I was born with bipolar disorder. I might have been. I might have been born with such genetic predisposition that no matter what happened I would have bipolar disorder. Or I might not. I really don’t know and science isn’t in a position to tell me.
But like with most things mental illness, there is a debate about it. Are people born with bipolar disorder?
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When you or someone you love is diagnosed with a mental illness like bipolar disorder, likely, you don’t know much about the mental illness outside of what the media and popular culture has told you. Unfortunately, these are not the best sources of information about bipolar disorder, depression, schizophrenia or other mental illnesses.
What is critical is that you take it upon yourself to research the mental illness so you can get the facts and not believe the fictions propagated about mental illness. If you’re here at the Bipolar Burble, and reading this, you’ve made an excellent start but I encourage you to continue with these other trusted research options.
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I’ve written about why you should keep fighting the pain of depression and bipolar disorder before. This is one of my most referred to articles, actually, as I think it makes a solid anti-suicide argument and is something to remember when you’re overwhelmed with the pain of depression and mental illness.
But a commenter said something I think many people would say about fighting bipolar disorder:
. . . but I’m too tired to fight bipolar disorder. . .
Yeah. I understand. I’ve felt too tired for years.
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After looking at the future treatment approaches for treatment-resistant depression, I thought I’d share a bit more depression and bipolar research. New options offer hope for everyone who run the gamut of bipolar or depression treatments.
The Bipolar Burble welcomes guest Karen Tyrell. Karen is an Australian mental health advocate and author of the new mental health memoir Me & Her: A Memoir of Madness.
Today Karen shares a little about her life and the place writing has had in her bipolar disorder recovery.
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I woke up one morning in 1994 crushed with depression. The first thing I thought of that morning was how much I wanted to kill myself, and if I couldn’t do that, then how much I wanted to hurt myself. I kept cutting implements and bandages near my bed just in case the feelings were too much to bear.
Of course, this was like every morning of my 16-year-old life. I was depressed, but I didn’t know it. I only knew that I wanted to die. I needed to die. I needed it like most people needed breath. And I knew that no one understood.
My home life was one of the things driving me to depression and granting me the leanings of suicide. Things there were a hellish nightmare of screaming and hate. And the people related to me and forced to love me gave me no consolation whatsoever as I was sure that they didn’t. These people hated me and wanted me gone every bit as much as I did.
This was, at least partially, my depression talking, but I didn’t know it then. I didn’t know what depression was and I didn’t know how loudly it spoke.
So I found myself in my car trying to drive anywhere away from there. Away from the nexus of crazy. So I drove to the only place that I knew would have me – to the house of my rapist.
As is most often the case my sexual abuse was complicated. And while I hated what this man in his 40s did to me the one thing I couldn’t live without was his love. He would tell me he loved me. This was undoubtedly a lie but convinced as I was that no one else did, that my life was worthless and that I should die, that one sliver of love offered by a minion of Satan made me keep breathing.
I arrived at his house to find him not home – away, undoubtedly grooming other little lovelies for his nest. So I did the only thing I could think to do, I curled up on a square of cement near his front steps and went to sleep weeping – an attempt to escape the world that was trying to kill me.
This is a picture of a girl in crisis. A girl so tightly wound in the grasp of depression that she can see no way of dealing with it at all. A girl so desperate to feel anything but the pain of mental illness she was prepared to put her body and her soul in harm’s way just to not feel like death was upon her for one brief moment in time.
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I’m on Twitter. Not a surprise there. And I have a pretty active following there. Most of the people are fans, but a few aren’t. A few quite disagree with me and what I have to say. Which is fine. People can have their views.
And recently, I was tweeting along, minding my own business when someone said this to me:
and have you been on antidepressant, mind altering drugs all these years. Making choices while under the influence
My first reflex was to reply,
and have you been making choices all this time while being an ignorant, sanctimonious ass?
Sigh.
But I’ve heard through the grapevine that wouldn’t be professional. So I said nothing. If Mr. Twitter wants to judge me for taking medically prescribed medication, that’s his right. Even if it is a small-minded, uncompassionate, hateful thing to do.
And really, I have snarky answers for many of the asinine comments people make to me. However, I don’t tend to share them as it makes people all pissy. That being said, this particular comment hit a sore spot – being under the influence of brain-bending medications.
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