No one teaches you the subtleties, the nuances of your mental illness. No one teaches you how to be vigilant in looking for those patterns of behaviour that might just be the next approaching storm. Both require patience and a deep understanding of oneself.
In September 2014 I had neither.
In September 2014 I was only awakening to the realization that I was terribly ill. But I didn't know the nature of that illness, didn't know how or where to get help, and I certainly didn't know myself.
Somewhere over the years I'd lost myself to darkness, something I came to call The Black.
While It had a name, and a weight, and a looming presence that sought to block out all light and connection, I didn't know what It was. In order to heal, to rediscover that lost self, I had to find this out. If I didn't do that I knew I'd be in deep trouble and that I'd likely repeat my drastic action.
The first were, as they often are, propelled by the simplest happenstance. I overheard a word, depression, and I overheard the name of an agency, The Canadian Mental Health Association. I didn't know what either was, but that word and that name gave me a starting point. I could look them up, I could learn and I could begin to understand. Perhaps even begin to heal and rediscover Me.
It wasn't easy. My cognition was terribly impaired. To some extent it has remained that way. But I did the best I could. I used the internet to research and, through that research, learn why... why I took such drastic, dire action.
I learned that many, far more than I suspected, act just as I did. Through this I learned that I was not alone, that many thousands and millions suffer just as I had suffered. This revelation started to create cracks in my isolation, started to open my mind and heart to connection.
Connection was also fostered when I called the Canadian Mental Health Association. I heard real people speak to me with the generosity of spirit, empathy, and compassion. To Me, Me who had tried to destroy himself. Me who viewed himself as worthless, as less than nothing. I was lower than shit on my shoes.
How could they speak to me in this way? I didn't deserve it. Yet day after day this comfort came my way. It soothed, started to calm the storm raging in my mind, and let light in.
With that shining light, I could see what my research was finding. I could see the signs of depression, those things that had become Me, and I could see ways out, treatments, therapies, medications.
Over time, and even now, I learned the nuances that define my illness, the indicators that stormy hypomania is on the horizon, or a trough of depression is opening beneath me. I learned that my illness requires me to be vigilant because I do not know when the tide will turn, when the ship will begin to list. And I learned how to be patient and give myself the time needed to right the ship.
As I share in this blog, I will talk more about the nuances, the indicators of changing mood, that I look for in me. I will share with you my Self-Care Plan, a living document that helps me to remain safe. I'll talk about apps, books, therapies, agencies and more, all of which work in concert to give me the aid I need.
I do hope that you'll join me as I share my experience with you. And if you find something helpful, please feel free to share it as widely as possible.
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