*WARNING: This post contains adult subject matter including topics on depression, suicide and drug abuse reference.
*DISCLAIMER: I am not licensed in any way and any topics touching on medical matters are not to be taken as official medical advice. Consult your medical practitioner if you have any medical questions or concerns.
I can't say I know the exact time my mind started to work against me. But I can say I know the exact time I was told so. It was 2001. I was 16, in Santiago, Chile visiting my mother. I had vaguely mentioned that I hadn't been feeling like myself for a while and I had some hard things I needed to talk about it. I was putting it mildly for her sake. Chile has a horrifying health care system, and we couldn't afford to put me on private care. However, a close friend of the family had a brother who was a psychiatrist and who agreed to see me 'off the books'.
I went to see him nervous and afraid of what he would think of me once I let everything out. That is if I would. I have a hard time opening to new people about my darker side. When I saw him he was a kind-faced man, with a big beard and an even bigger belly which gave him a Santa Claus appeal. I was crying my eyes out within 5 minutes, telling him everything. My thoughts, my fears, my suicide attempts since the age of 12. Everything I could think of. I was promptly diagnosed: Bi-Polar with a hint of Personality Disorder and a dash of Schizophrenia.
It was official, I was nuts.
I was relieved to have been able to open up without feeling judged. He barely even reacted to anything I said. Just handed me tissues as he sat calmly to listen. It was also a sort of relief to have an official name put to whatever was wrong with me. I was sacred anything I told him would be meet with a "well, that's nothing medical, you're just a moody sad child" which is the usual response I got up until then whenever I tried to open up about anything I was feeling. It was always my fault. A product of my own oddity and emotional instability.
But not anymore! It was official, I was mentally ill! And it had names! Like official medical names and everything! It wasn't my fault! It wasn't my fault I stayed up late into the nights crying non-stop over every little thing people said to me, or mistakes I made, or fears of what tomorrow would bring. It wasn't my fault I would try to cut myself every time something inside me hurt so bad I had to scratch at my surface to see if I could release some of it out somehow. It wasn't my fault I would hear so many opinions and thoughts in my head and I had arguments with different aspects of myself constantly. It wasn't my fault that obsessed over every single detail of things that would bother me. It wasn't my fault I was hyper-active one minuet, totally in love with life; then complete depressed the other and ready to die. Not...my...FAULT! And best of all, I was being given a way to solve it.
Welcome to the wonderful world of: Pharmaceuticals.
I was handed back to my mother with the diagnosis and a handful of prescriptions. She burst into tears. S'okay mom. Not your fault. (Actually it was my father's fault, but that's another story)
It started off simple enough. Mood stabilizers every day, and sedatives for those extra, special hard moments. I was on an innocent amount of 25mg of Lamotragine for about a year. What change! I was so chilled, so relaxed, so happy. I felt I could do anything!...for a while.
Then it would hit me. Moments of depression. Complete misery after moments of complete euphoria. I was back to where I started and headed over to my psychiatrist for an explanation. It was simple enough apparently: I was started on a base amount, and now it was time to adjust.
And adjust they did! Over the years I yo-yo'd back and forth between months of equilibrium, and then nosediving into complete bi-polar insanity and people pleased for me to please take my meds and my doctor's said "Not to worry! Let's up the dose! You've leveled up to 125mg! Hooray!"
And on and on it went. I spend years playing the never-ending spin-the-wheel-of-depression game where each day was a complete game of chance of will I be happy, sad, mad or completely deranged today? I had no idea who I was, or what I wanted. I was completely exhausted. And frankly, so was everyone around me. I was self-destructive, and destroying every relationship that came my way. I would be crazy in-love and happy one moment, then depressed and needy another, then furious and disgusted at my partner the next. It was a nightmare. And I send out a heartfelt apology to those men in my life who tried their best and were hurt by me. (Except that one f*#@-face who cheated on me every chance he got for no other reason than he thought he could. You can suck it!)
By 2016, I was beyond exhausted. I had just gotten past one of the worst break-ups of my life and had grabbed my puppy Coco, 3 suitcases and moved back to Canada after 7 slightly hellish years living in Latin America. And I was scared, depressed, alone and on a staggering level of 250mg Lamotragine a day. Most of which I started snorting through my nose to get a quicker and more intense effect like some deranged mob boss coked out wife. Only not as slim and attractive.
Things got trickier when I realized my stash was getting low, I didn't have a prescription, or money enough to afford a psychiatrist. Health Care doesn't cover crazy people ya know. They figure we'll self-destruct anyways, so what's the point in wasting tax dollars on our well-being.
Things were getting rough. I was also in a bran-spanking new relationship and was starting to fall in love. And we all know what that means for me: jealousy, fear, anxiety, suspicion, desperation...the works! And the poor guy was getting the Bi-Polar V.I.P treatment as my meds started to lose their effect. I was all over him one moment being sweet, happy and fun, then demanding to know if he really loved me or not and crying my eyes out screaming bloody murder the next. The guy had no clue what 6th circle of hell he stepped into. But he must be the resurrection on Dante or something, because he stayed.
He even stayed when I called him from the emergency room of CAMH. After a brief talk with my family doctor, he declared that I was an immediate suicide risk and sent me over. I was put on a waiting list behind 7 people where only two were attended to after 2 hours. 2 people in 2 HOURS! I was going to drown myself in the drinking fountain just to save myself from the nightmare of waiting to be saved. I decided to use my life-line and call my boyfriend. I was miserable, and being in the waiting room of the 'emergency' CAMH ward just not helping. Also I knew what they'd do. Up my medication, hand me over to whatever psychologist was on hand who would inevitability ask "So what's wrong with you? What's so bad about your life?" (I've gone through this process one too many times and trust me...they're no help)
I also realized that the medication was just not helping. Every time I took it, it did calm me down, but it took away who I was. I had no personality. The levels were so high that I just ended up being a zombie. Mild mannered, agreeable, calm, diplomatic...just you're average, boring, classic, north american girl-next-door. And surprise, surprise...even my boyfriend hated that. He hated seeing me gulp those pills down and then see the light fade from my eyes and the glow dull from my face. There had to be another way. There must be. He had a crazy idea to offer me: what if I went off my meds?
It was risky. I could be worse of. There would be a transitioning period which could best be described as withdrawal and we all know withdrawal from anything is never a smooth or easy. But nothing the doctors were doing was helping. And I hated who I was on the meds. I warned him things could get rough. Rougher than anything he's ever been put through. The masochist said "Let's do it" and I said "Okay"
So, we made a joint decision during that phone call. I walked out of the emergency room, and never looked back. Funny thing is, my doctor had send a request for someone at CAMH to contact me. It was suppose to be no longer than a 3 month wait. That was over 2 years ago, and I never heard from them.
So I started cutting back slowly on my meds. I didn't have much left so it had to anyways. But I knew I was going to need something to help me out. After all, my condition still existed. I was still bi-polar and depressive. I knew I couldn't just let it go unchecked. So I did the best thing I could, I informed myself. And I decided to use my new vegan lifestyle to help me.
Now for the good stuff! I started reading every article I could about depression and natural remedies. What vitamins and nutrients could help. And where exactly my depression came from. I knew I had a lot of work ahead of me, but I was determined to find a way. And if it didn't work, I would go back to the meds. I discovered that vitamin B's were ideal to help depression. Especially B12 and B6. So I decided to up my intake of any vegetables that were high in those vitamins. I also added vegan supplements to help during my withdrawal. I also discovered Omega-3 worked like a lubricant on the brain and could also help with mental anxiety. I promptly found the best algae-based Omega-3 supplement I could find. But it would take more than just stuffing my face with spinach and capsules. There was an obvious options I dreaded taking: exercise.
Anyone who knows me from my past knows I HATE to work out, or do sports, or move in general. I've always voiced I was the 'artistic' type and had no place doing physical activities. Of course I found out quickly how stupid that is. And how I had the wrong idea of what exercise meant. No one was asking me to joining an intensive Booty Camp or X-treme fitness program. I just need to get my heart pumping for at least 30min each day. I knew there was no way I'd do this without motivation. So I joined the cheapest (but still functional) gym I could find and was pleased when they said payments would be withdrawn automatically from my account. In my mind, if someone is going to be taking my money I better damn well get something for it! So, that motivated me to keep going back. Also, they had massage chairs and tanning booths which studies shown Vitamin D is essential for mental well-being especially during winter time. Bonus!
So I started going to the gym and doing light cardio and some simple exercises. It started off rocky enough. I only went once a week. But somehow, my body started getting used it it. Even craving it. Since I was no longer consuming animal products, my cholesterol had dropped drastically, my heart was stronger and my pressure levels were ideal. I was stronger on a plant-based diet than I ever was before. And I was getting so many vitamins and nutrients I never got before. I ended up working out 4 days a week. And on the days I worked out, I was actually...happier! Yup, those damn endorphins everyone keeps yapping about actually DO exists!
Ok, so there were still dark times. The withdrawal times. The time when I was completely off my meds and my emotions were running loose like monkey's in a banana factory. I was crying at everything, and i mean EVERYTHING. If I couldn't have nachos at a moment I wanted nachos, I was crying uncontrollably wondering "How did my life come to this moment where I can't even have nachos? Where did my life go wrong? Why am I even alive?! There is no point in living!"
Yeah, things got rough.I realized I need to add something else. I was giving my body nutrients for positive and exercise to keep the happy feelings flowing, but I needed something for when I was having panic attacks and falling into dark depressive spells and couldn't hit the gym. Cue the yoga mat and essential oil diffuser!
That's right, I started to do yoga. Every...single...morning. Nothing fancy. Just a few sun salutations and easy-to-follow YouTube videos. Yoga gave me the opposite effect the gym did. It taught me to calm down, listen to my body rather than push it and find peace instead of adrenaline. I started to find...balance. Odd that someone who is bi-polar would add such opposing practices into their life, but it's exactly that difference between the two that helped me find balance. Because each was able to satisfying the opposing parts of me. I was actually healing myself.
Now before you adorn me with marigold garlands around my neck and call me a guru, I'm not exactly cured. Nor will I ever be. Mental Illness, from what I know, has no cure. It requires daily and constant maintenance. If I wasn't doing all my practices and taking my supplements, I would be back on those meds. Left unchecked, my mental illness can go back to 'having a mind of it's own (no pun intended).
And sometimes it does. Running a business, taking care of a dog who is like a child, taking care of day-to day tasks can get in the way of keeping up with everything else you need to do. Actually, if you've ever wondered what it's like to suffer from any kind of mental illness, try to open a business. It's insanity! Really, no one in their right mind should do it. Which is probably why some of the biggest and best companies have started from people NOT in their right mind.
The point is, I still suffer from depression. I still sometimes find myself crying in the oddest places for what seems like no reason. I still get panic attacks that feel like they are slowly taking over. So what's the difference? Trust me, it's not as often or as severe. I have better reaction time and can try to breath through some moments before they get worse. I find myself crying less and less. I can't remember that last time I went into a panic attack that had me on the verge of a seizure, threatening to take me to the emergency room. It's actually been so much better. And I've been clean off pharmaceuticals for over almost 3 years.
Now as I mentioned in the disclaimer, I am not a professional. And I will not suggest anyone follows my methods step by step without doing their own research and consulting their physicians. I personally go in to see my family doctor once a year to check all my levels to make sure they are ok and I'm not missing something. I also see a therapist ever now and then when things get severe and I need some extra support.
The most important thing I can suggest is to not become your mental illness. Do not define yourself by it. Don't post depressing quotes all over Facebook about how this is who you are and no one understand you. Ok, so not everyone will get it. Even my own guy has had his moments where he says "I just don't understand what you're crying about" And even I have tried calling out for help putting deep dark posts hoping someone will reach out to me because I'm too scared to do it myself. But even with all the support in the world, the best way to heal your mind is with your own mind. Find what works for you, push towards it, do it every day or as many days as you can. And build yourself up again on the foundation of who you are.
You will never be able to destroy your mental illness, but you can build around it. Make your mind and your heart stronger around it sot hat it can still stand strong when it starts to act up. And you can contain, nurture and work with it, so that you can still get up and live the life you want and not be afraid of who you are.
I'm sure there's more I want to say, but my humor has started to run dry on this post, and there's always more posts I could write.
I hope anything I've said has given some of you out there with mental illness some hope or at least a few laughs. If you ever want to reach out and share your story, or need some support, or have any thoughts or suggestions on my posts, do not hesitate to contact me. I'd be more than happy to hear from you.
I send you all light and love, and as always...Be The Change.