Optimism in the Face of Mental Illness

I try to be optimistic about my recovery from mental illness.  That's easy on good days, I think its clear sailing, and I feel like I have some mastery over my inner landscape.  I take pride in doing what I need to do to take care of myself and deal with the daily nuances of my mind and guide myself in the right direction.

Recovery is a lifelong journey, and there are days when I'm actually scared for my life and everything I've fought so hard for, because I still have alot of vulnerability to clinical depression.  Days like today I'm acutely aware that I don't have full control over scary thoughts and feelings that have in the past spiralled to the point of changing my brain chemistry leaving me lost and alone, disconnected from my soul, my life force and other people.  Just writing this makes me want to cry, because I don't think that anyone should ever have to feel this way.  I don't know why some of us are so delicately wired and have to overcome patterns in our brains that are so detrimental.

Yesterday, I was with a friend and I started feeling disconnected in a scary way so I curled up on his couch and started crying.  I reached a point of deep compassion for myself, I realized how overwhelmed I was with all the pressures I put on myself, trying to figure out my career, dealing with adhd thats makes focus so hard, and being confused about relationships.  I grieved that lack of control and held my wounded, disappointed heart.  I realized in that moment, I'd done everything I could and being mad at myself for letting myself get to this state wasn't going to help.  I connected to that inner love for myself, I'm only human, I didn't ask for this burden.  I didn't ask to have to reach such scary places dealing with everyday challenges.

I guess at the end of the day, everything I achieve means that much more, because I fight like hell to do what other people take to granted.  Years of therapy, trying to understand my triggers, taking more and more responsibility for my choices, learning to relate to my mind in a different way, and still sitting here crying because living well with mental illness is the hardest thing I will ever have to do.

I'm a perfectionist, and having hard days can feel like a failure.  I'm never going to be perfect.  I will struggle with a mind that is  distracted and scares easily.  In times like these I need to remember I've found peace in this life through yoga, meditation, connection and recovery.  I'm not alone.

All my problems need to be surrendered at a certain point.  Yes, these low points are signs I may need to change something in my life, maybe a perception, maybe a behaviour, but I'm not going to figure it all out at once, and fix my life overnight. I've done my humanly best and I accept my suffering, that I'm not a loser because I am feeling somewhat powerless.  Accepting where I am and committing to small changes can be empowering, reminding me I do have some control over my life, and I'm stronger than the dark feelings that haunt me from time to time.

I think having deep compassion for myself, realizing how stressful its been being un employed and making art, and putting pressure on myself to be positive even though I'm not making any money has been tough.  Realizing if I want to have a landscape business again, its alot of work and I need faith in myself that I can make it work, I need to surrender my fears, because they are keeping me sick.

Believing that I can make something  meaningful out of my life helps. Goals of advancing my art practice,  getting ready for markets and believing that I can either have my own landscape company or work for someone else keep my moving forward.  Closing my eyes and remembering the joy I've experienced having felt mastery and visualizing getting there again feels amazing.

I am responsible for making the most of the cards I've been dealt.   I'm not a victim, just a person that has another layer of frustration and challenge to learn to accept and overcome. I only have one life, and I believe that the power of my soul, my connection to my higher power and the beauty of my vision of myself healthy, happy, and contributing to society will pull me through.

The Struggle is Real! 10 years sober and still not out of the woods

Ten years ago my Mom chaperoned me to the Nanaimo Ferry terminal, where a militant woman with razor sharp bangs and a nononsense attitude drove me to rehab.  It was pretty epic, like summer camp for bad kids.  Where else can you safety interact with such a broad range of disturbed adults, from multimillionaire crack addicts, to members of the Hells Angels, to moms who do meth in front of their kids, and cops who can't stop taking sexual favours from criminals.  There were doctors and dentists there too, because it was a pretty classy place.

Anyways, I defied the odds, and I took it all in, and decided fuck it, I may not be as far progressed in my addictions as my fellow campers, but this wasn't a joke. So I did it, and I'm clean and serene for 2017.

I'm still not out of the woods.  Not only do I struggle with addictions, I have been through the wringer with mental illness.  I did what society recommends and trusted my doctors and all their lovely medications that they give out like candy in different flavors, depending on your diagnosis.  The shitty part is that psychiatrists, far from being well rounded, or having an in-depth knowledge of psychology, are pretty well versed in the DSM 5 or whatever version they're onto now and use a simple set of criteria to pick out scary drugs to prescribe in abundance.

When I went to rehab, I had to fill out a drug and alcohol history, which I had hoped proved I was ok to go home.  The counsellors weren't having it, I'd already disclosed to many life or death situations I'd willingly subjected myself to, high and drunk out of my tree.  I really was powerless over my addictions and my life had become unmanageable.

The crazy thing about all of this is that I'm in a similar predicament with substances, 10 years after rehab, but these were all prescribed to me by a series of GP's and Pychiatrist's, who were well meaning and thought their drugs were an integral part in me living well with mental illness.

It took 9 years before I walked through the doors of the Cochrane Counselling centre, and spoke to the first psychologist that actually got through all of the questions necessary to understand what was really going on.  She figured out that I had ADHD, and depression from trauma, from growing up getting bullied, seeing my parents train wreck marriage, witnessing verbal and mental abuse at home, and causing myself more trauma in active addiction, including being sexually victimized by predatory men when I would get loser drunk.

I'm actually happy to know I have ADHD, that my depression is treatable, and that I can retrain my brain with DBT and other modalities.  Before that, I was wrongly diagnosed as bipolar 2, and thought medication and acceptance were my best solution.  I felt victimized my the label, not empowered, because it wasn't accurate.  The pyschiatrist who diagnosed me had just finished reading Kay Jameson,  famous bipolar psychiatrists,  book on Exuberance.  He asked me if I'd ever felt exuberant, and I said yes, I've been high on rave drugs starting at 15.  That was that, I was bipolar for 5 years, and got more and more drugs shoved my way.  I'm kinda disappointed in pychiatrists, none of them reviewed his diagnosis and I really wanted answers from the doctor that gave me that label, not drugs.  I told him my whole life story thinking he was going to see that is made perfect sense I had the issues I did given my experiences, but that's simply not his training which is disappointing to say the least.

While I'm glad I got this last piece of the puzzle, and the right diagnosis, I'm now facing a situation where I've been over prescribed medications, and feel powerless once again.  I was given a stimulant for ADHD, and I've been struggling because it doesn't work that great with all the drugs I was given for depression and bipolar.  I'm now over stimulated, feeling wired, edgy, like my skin is crawling, having to much adrenalin etc almost everyday.

My last pyschiatrist told me I was doing well, that I had this all under control and would be fine if I stopped letting assholes sleep in my bed, which I thought was great, but now I have to get my psych meds under control with my GP.

Its been pretty humbling, Im no longer Queen Sh#$ of Recovery with 10 years of sobriety, I need recovery as much today as I did then, but now its due to my powerlessness with stimulants.  I have had to quit smoking, and probably caffiene is next.  I have had to reduce antidepressants.
All of this because my GP and last psychiatrist are convinced that Vyvanse really helps ADHD.
All I know is that as I sit here shaking and writing, I feel alot of compassion for everyone in recovery, no matter what page you find yourself on.  Struggle reminds me that life really is JUST FOR TODAY,  to Trust the Universe,  reach out to others, and to believe in myself, and that I really do have the tools I need to OVERCOME my challenges.