This isn't recent news, but it is relevant news for me, my story, and another grotesque mental illness saga. My mental illness never seems to go away, but does it better when I find healthier ways to cope.
But, this was a time in my life when I was at an all time low mentally, dealing with panic disorders and anorexia, while trying to realize that maybe I truly did have a problem with addiction; not just substances, either.
While chronically threatening to kill myself was the least of my worries. In fact, I thought that it would fix my problems.
Most panic attacks last for a few seconds, you'd say from research or your own personal experiences, right? Now think of me looking like Ronald McDonald and the Looney Tunes from the Looney Bin had a baby, multiplied by 100. Not to mention that this syndrome was a 24 hour gig!
I went as far as always feeling fat after losing 110 pounds in 11 months, too. I was anorexia's bitch. But that doesn't factor in the 2,000 a day calorie burning workouts I was doing, too. Oh, and don't forget... ZERO carbs!
But waking up screaming from vivid nightmares of needles and my old using buddies was worse. It was like my mind was on a chronically induced bad acid trip, mixing in some Salvia and DMT.
My dad would rush in to my bedroom, wrapping his arms around me as I would wake up unbeknownst to reality, screaming, "Help me! Save me! Anyone! Please!"
I looked and sounded and was in the throws of a mental breakdown worse than you'd ever of imagined without reading about it here first... This is an unimaginable and irrational state of being. My existence was to purely suffer.
You wouldn't notice how much true pain and torture I was in because there was no blood running down my arm, protruding bones, or puss filled abscesses to diagnose me with a visible disease.
I was caught in the grips of "Little Boy Cry Wolf? / Is He Truly Insane? / or Is There More Than Meets The Eye?" ie. This is epitome of invisible illnesses...
If you were to look up the definition of invisible illnesses in the urban, or regular, dictionary, you'd see me accompanied by words like suffering but insane!
So, I was now locked in the best Mental Hospital in Michigan, and the way that I got there was semi-voluntary.
I was on lock down for passive aggressive threats to kill myself, but no one saw it coming. I felt the erratic behavior, and it seemed like I was the only one who could see that I was on pins and needles 24 hours a day; while losing weight from my anorexia.
But, that's the problem with invisible illnesses, right? No one cares until they can see the knife sliding across my wrist...
If you can't see that I'm in excruciating, deadly pain, than you don't give a single, solitary, flying, fuck! And no you don't have to answer me that one Batman. It's rhetorical. So, smile baby. Smile!
This was the truth of how I was in early recovery from substances. Still not a clue on how to take care of myself. But catch me later, because mental illness is my biggest trigger towards substance use.
Catch me talking too much further and you may not catch me from panicking all over again. Although I find pushing myself to the brink of extinction to be rather... Jeckyll and Hyde "Therapeutic" for me.
So when you call someone insane, hopeless, or impossible to deal with, you may never know what they are going through. So don't try to understand. Instead offer your assistance by listening, because nothing shut me up sooner and made my heart pace a little slower than a kind ear who would agree with my craziness and tell me the rational side of it, instead...
I wasn't crazy, maybe I just needed to be told that instead stigmatized. Oh well, society isn't there yet though. So, in this story I find a way to sit in that hospital bed while my homicidal roommate paces at 3 A.M.
Sweet dreams Alice. Sweet dreams.