You gave me the freedom to fly when I felt trapped in the cage that was my mind. Running turned to gliding with the support of your stability. I ran faster and harder, leaving behind demons who tormented me. I never knew such power until I met you, my inner strength constantly unleashed by the strides you allowed me to take.
I want to thank you for showing me consistently I am capable of more than I give myself credit. You set the pace for my tortured mind to find grace. There is a stillness and peace found in your presence I have yet to find anywhere else.
Regardless of the distance travelled, I never regret the journey with you. I find myself a little more with every adventure we take together. When life becomes unbearable there is perspective in your steps, pushing me forwards – towards the light.
You lift me up when I need to soar, reminding me of the bigger picture once more. You never judge me for the thoughts I express but rather offer to help me work through them. The pace is always mine to set and there is never resentment whether it be faster, or slower.
I want to thank you for teaching me resilience, that recovery is a process. No two strides are ever the same as you continually teach me I am capable and worthy of change. You fight for my right to become the best possible version of myself – I love that about you.
The more time I spend in your shoes, the more I realize life is not always about the destination rather the adventure one experiences on the way there. There are times I want to stop, hit pause, and give up, but you inspire me to keeping moving forward despite this.
I want to thank you for demonstrating the only competition I have in this life is with myself. I know I can always rely on your steadfast commitment to my growth. You allow me the space to explore my potential without judgment.
I run most days to think through my thoughts and emotions and somedays, to avoid them. Regardless of the intent, my mind is always clearer and less cluttered, no longer bogged down by the negativity I am ashamed to admit can crowd my brain.
More than anything I run to fly, to take my mended broken wings and force them into the sky.
I have never been so called out in my life when reading this definition, sitting back analyzing my most recent failed relationship or rather “rebound” that lasted six months.
I never took the time to heal from a loving and very supportive relationship that lasted nearly three years. It came to a natural end when he confessed his struggle with gender dysphoria and the desire to transition into a woman.
Could you imagine unpacking all those feelings? First, resentment because I got attached and wasn’t told sooner, then despair because I genuinely loved him but couldn’t continue with “her” since I am not, contrary to my sexually fluid youth, a lesbian. This wasn’t something that could easily be overcome or fought for because if it was, we’d still be together.
Picture yourself dealing with a confusing orchestra of doubt in your head about love and whether you will ever find or deserve it again, when in walks a man who catches your eye. He seems to notice you when no one else does and though you’re in a crowded room his concentration is only on you. You begin to wonder, “maybe losing the last relationship was meant to happen to bring me to this person? Perhaps that loss was actually a part of a longer journey to this truer love instead?”
The problem when you’re a hopeless romantic, hurting in the throes of a break-up, is you tend to dawn rose-coloured glasses. What should have been a short-lived relationship equivalent to a summer fling or a one-night stand, painfully drags on. I wore glasses tainted with idealization because it was easier to perceive what I wanted to believe than confront the fact I was only looking for comfort to distract myself from painful feelings – mainly loneliness.
I ignored his lack of communication, attention and affection to keep distracted and at the end of the day that’s all it was – a band aid for a bullet wound. I didn’t know it yet but he would become my rebound, my “second best,” because honestly all he was ever good for was distracting me from my ex, the person I legitimately loved. He was a band-aid for the bullet-sized hole “she” had left on my soul. She left a mark, an impression on my heart that no one had before.
I did not want to face all those messy feelings that made me uncomfortable so I settled for mediocrity in a new relationship to keep the charade that I was “fine” alive. I am and was not okay when I lost who I thought was the love of my life. I ran into the arms of another person looking for comfort to distract myself from acknowledging this – accepting I had experienced a loss.
When the fog of distraction lifted, I found myself in the worst relationship I had ever been in. He was jealous, aloof, uncommunicative and unwilling to change. He was always this way. The rose coloured glasses came off when I decided to walk away and face the delayed inevitable need for healing.
My rebound was second best in that he distracted me from my previous relationship and a person I was struggling to let go of, but also because he distracted me from myself. The most important relationship I will ever have in this life is the one I have with myself. If I am being honest I have a lot more growing to do and exploring the dynamics of Me, Myself and I before I can begin to fathom letting someone back in to my heart. That’s okay because one day I will be in a better place to accept and recognize the next great love of my life.
The fact is, I’m newly single yet I feel like I’m exactly where I was six months ago before this rebound ended. I refused to let go of him sooner, hiding from facing the pain of my previous failed relationship. Now I must confront those feelings again, the ones I buried by throwing myself into a new relationship instead of healing and exploring myself first.
I’m sad, angry, confused, happy, and a whole other slew of emotions that seem to come and go. Though this may feel intense and overwhelming, it’s beautiful. I am no longer numb, mindlessly going through the paces of a relationship going nowhere fast. Allow yourself the time and grace to heal, to properly grieve before moving on or you’ll find yourself like me – holding onto somebody for the sake of holding on and delaying the inevitable need for healing.
This is a clapback post to all the bigots, judgers, sexists, misogynists and quite frankly asshole keyboard warriors with limited, prejudiced views. I recently been posting pictures on Instagram showcasing my body and a person who I recently reconnected with clearly did not agree with it and felt the need to express themselves in the most rude, obnoxious and bigoted way. I am writing this post to say firstly you can post whatever you want regardless of mental illness or mental health and secondly to those who don’t like it: unfollow, unsubscribe as you wish but please keep your opinions to your self! Below is an image of the email he sent me…
Let me address the more annoying part of this email I received first, “Women pose like this because they think it’s what men want to see and so becomes counterproductive and counter exploitative.” Last time I checked you were a man and therefore do not try to understand or underestimate why “women pose like this.” Contrary to this man’s opinion that I am being “attention seeking,” I am posing like this to demonstrate my strength and resolve. It has absolutely nothing to do with men and everything to do with women. I want women to see these images and be inspired to celebrate their bodies. If you got it, my god, fucking flaunt it! If you look through my Instagram you can see a plethora of “working out” and gym posts as I progressed from being overweight to being the fittest I have ever been in my life – Fuck You! Of Course I am going to celebrate and showcase that!
As for his comment, “#MeToo and equality gives you every right to pose as you wish” rattles me. First of all the #MeToo movement has nothing to do with sexy poses being posted on social media and everything to do with sexual harassment and violence. To equate the “MeToo” movement to me having the freedom to pose “as I wish” is ignorant and negates the genuine motives behind this movement.
In 2006, the “me too.” Movement was founded by survivor and activist Tarana Burke. Burke wanted a way to empower women who had endured sexual violence by letting them know that they were not alone—that other women had suffered the same experience they had. In 2017, the #metoo hashtag went viral and woke up the world to the magnitude of the problem of sexual violence. The ‘me too’ Movement believes in the radical possibilities of a movement against sexual violence led by survivors. In 2017, the phrase was reintroduced by actress Alyssa Milano as a way to encourage women and men to share their stories as part of an anti-sexual harassment movement.
I am not a victim of either sexual harassment or violence and never claimed to be nor do I hide behind a hashtag to “excuse” my posts. I do not have to excuse myself for celebrating my body and how far I have come in my fitness journey. I felt like this man emailing me was implying #MeToo opened the door for me as a woman to post anything and “get away with it.” This is a strong misunderstanding of the motives behind the movement which are to give power and a voice to sexual assault, abuse, and harassment victims. I do not need to hide behind any movement or organization as a scapegoat for my actions because they are just that, MY actions. I act with intention and consideration. I do not think, for example, my posting provocative pictures hurts my mental health community or perpetuates stigma.
Another frustrating part of this man’s emails and messages was him mentioning my mental illness as a reason not to post these types of pictures and that I am essentially giving people with Bipolar a bad name. First of all, what the fuck does mental illness have to do with this? Secondly, just because I advocate for mental health and fighting stigma does not mean I can’t be “sexy” while doing it. In fact, I’d argue it’s fighting the stigma more because I am showing that yes, a person with mental health issues can display their body with self-confidence too. There is no shame in putting it out there if you feel comfortable doing it. What separates me from every other woman on Instagram posting sexy pictures? – That I am Bipolar? I do not see this man attacking or sending them condescending messages.
He calls me “vulnerable” because why? I dare to post a picture in a bodysuit or my underwear? And can we address that for a second – women post full nudes with exposed nipples on Instagram and this man is attacking me for modelling lingerie? So I guess I am a “Tramp” then? (his words, not mine) I am not promiscuous and stand for a lot more than this man is giving me credit for. I stand for freedom of expression above anything and these pictures are just that – an expression of my body. If showing off my body – something I worked really hard for – makes me look “vulnerable and needing attention” then so be it. Except it does not, it demonstrates I am comfortable in my own skin, something in my opinion that is vital to good mental health.
“And if people know you are bi-polar it doesn’t really help you or people with your condition…” was probably the part of this man’s email that infuriated me. People with Bipolar are just like anyone else in that we too have different interests and personalities. I can be Bipolar AND interested in modelling lingerie and posting sexy pictures – that’s just me. My illness will never stop me from pursuing something I enjoy nor will the stigma towards “people with your condition” as he so eloquently put it. I never realized celebrating my own body would upset somebody so much to the point they had to send not one, but two nasty messages.
According to PsychCentral, mental health advocates “are the individuals who tirelessly share their stories in all sorts of ways. They remind us that we’re not alone in our struggles—and there is real, tangible hope and healing. They shatter stereotypes and myths about mental illness, helping the public see that people with mental illness are just people.” Let me hone in on the following part, “helping the public see that people with mental illness are just people.” I am a person first, above anything else, a person who likes to share my progress on social media. This has culminated in my most recent posts in lingerie demonstrating the epoch of my fitness journey. I worked hard to get to the point where I am comfortable putting it all out there. . I am also a sensual person who likes to get in touch with their sexy side when posing for the camera. People with mental illnesses can be sexy too and it doesn’t make us any less of a person or mental health advocate for wanting to display that.
I think if anything I am showing that people with mental illness do not fit in these neat little boxes. Being a mental health and illness advocate should not mean you do not get to express your “sexy” side if you have one and want to flaunt it. I should not be taken any less seriously because I am a young woman who likes to show off her body. However, I know it doesn’t work that way, people are judging me not only for posting those pictures but also judging me by my looks. Just because I am an attractive young woman who likes to post “liberal” images of herself does not imply I am lacking intelligence or do not have anything of value to say. Stop judging books by covers and stop trying to belittle women or imply they are a “slut” for celebrating their bodies on social media. I am confident in my own skin despite struggling with a mental illness and quite frankly it suggests confidence and self-esteem I can post these pictures but not only that, it demonstrates my integrity to this esteem in not taking them down the minute somebody did not like the idea of them being out there. I am going to post whatever the fuck I want or feel comfortable sharing on social media because that’s who I am – a person with integrity who will not let some man tell me what or what I should not be posting.
As for me regretting this “later in life,” I can’t help but laugh. I don’t believe in regrets and I strongly believe in living for the moment. This moment in time I felt compelled to share those pictures and not for whatever misguided reasons people assume when associated with sexy pictures. These pictures represent something for me – this moment – when I felt the most confident and secure in my body image. I’d honestly regret not posting them because then I’d be left wondering, “Did I not post them because I was afraid of the opinions of others?” I feel and look the best I have ever felt in years and damn straight I want to share that. I want to look back on these pictures and remember how confident, sexy and strong I was in THIS moment. No regrets, I won’t look back. You can call me a slut, tramp, mindless Instagram Babe or whatever suits your fancy but just know I ain’t here for it. Your name calling and condescending opinions will never censor the content I put out which is authentically me. I AM Bipolar AND sexy too but I won’t apologize for it. I also will not allow people to belittle me into thinking I am any less or that I am not a good person or a good mental health advocate because I display my body. You’re simply ignorant in my opinion if you think the two some how correlate. I am a woman above all else with the freedom to post or not post whatever the fuck I want. If you don’t like it, hit the unsubscribe button quietly then walk away and please keyboard warriors, just get out of my fucking face!
I have been neglecting what I hope will be my life’s work, writing my memoirs about living and struggling with bipolar disorder, specifically my experiences with multiple psychoses. I decided to get a rose gold cuff bracelet engraved with the acronym, “JFDI,” which stands for “Just Fucking Do It.” I want to remind myself daily by wearing this that I need to simply sit my ass down and write whether I feel like it or not. However, despite this new beautiful addition to my jewelry collection, wearing it has yet to spur much action on the writing front.
I decided to journal about how I was feeling regarding writing this book and the following words spewed onto the page and as usual my own writing process has exposed me and shed some light on my avoidance:
“I believe a big part of my procrastination is that this is a painful story to share. When I sit down and write it, I have to dig deep in the dark recesses of my mind and retrieve memories that quite frankly hurt to hold onto. No one wants to admit that they lost the one thing that most of us would never fathom losing – their sanity. Let me be very clear here, “losing your mind” and “losing your sanity” are two very different things. One you have more control over and can recover from quickly while the other is a complete loss of control, a complete break from reality.
When you lose your sanity, you dissociate and your mind fractures into something unrecognizable. I am not saying you cannot come back from that but it’s harder to reconcile – that your mind was not your own. You’re scared shitless then reality slips back through the cracks and you wonder, “will that happen again?” Unfortunately for me it happened not once, but twice. You start to feel like a visitor in your mind and wonder when the darkness will come again and consume you.”
Now reading that back to myself after writing it was an “Aha!” moment in that I did not even realize I was harboring a deep rooted fear and pain towards writing this story. It’s understandable. I just didn’t know that this was yet one more thing holding me back from writing. I have decided to start slowly to confront the pain and sit with these memories a little bit everyday until I am ready to unpack them and process them. I believe through writing this book I can come to heal even more than I already have – and don’t get me wrong I’ve come a long way from those days spent rocking back and forth crying slumped against my bedroom door coming to terms with the fact I had lost my mind to a mental illness I was now saddled with for life. I spent days, weeks, and years drowning in grieve that I would never be “sane” or considered “normal.” I had a very real identity crisis accepting my bipolar disorder and letting go of the vision of myself pre-diagnosis.
I am in active recovery and have been stable on medication for years now and think it is finally time I start putting off my goal to write my memoirs. Is it scary? For sure, as I have laid out my thoughts above on it. Am I capable? Absolutely. I know in my heart of hearts this is something I was meant to do – to share my journey in the throes of mental illness so that someone trying to navigate those same waters may have a guidepost of hope to look to and understand that it does get better. I am living proof it does get better. I am not saying I do not still struggle with the inevitable ups and downs of this disorder but I have come to realize you need to give yourself grace. You need to understand healing is a process, a journey unto itself. I simply want to show that you can go from falling apart on your bedroom floor to managing your symptoms and picking yourself back up.
I tend to shy away about talking about my relationships on here because I tend to treat them as sacred. But I realize that would be negating a big part of my life that my readers may relate to and honestly, walk with me through this break up, and I will have you better on the other side for it – because I generally have a level head when it comes to relationships and the sometimes inevitable ends of them. I can experience the pain of rejection, loss, and missed opportunities wash over me but I will forever be rational in the way I choose to interpret these feelings.
The simple fact is and what I genuinely believe: what is meant for me will be meant for me. Basically, if he walked then I am actually one step closer to where I am supposed to be – clearly not with him. I gave this person so many opportunities to rise up and grow with me but unfortunately he was not interested – and that’s ok! That’s on him and not me. But what IS on me is the question I have been asking myself the past few days since breaking up and that is: “Where Do I Begin and Where Do I End?”
The fact is whether I want to admit it or not, I made myself smaller than life for him. Let me explain that… I kept quiet all the pieces that make me uniquely me and that I adore personally – that I am passionate about writing, mental health advocacy and most importantly and unfortunately I kept quiet my belief that everyone deserves a certain level of respect in a relationship (whether romantic or not but most especially romantic). I accepted less than I deserved from this person CONSISTENTLY, seriously I am debating whether I am a sadist at this point, hmmm…?
Things I let slide that I would never tolerate before, or let alone accept my friends to let slide in their own romantic endeavours. I became a less shiny, push over version of myself that quite frankly I feel as though I must have fell down the rabbit hole to some alternate universe that I ever became this version of myself – it’s my least impressive version yet. I’m starting to wonder am I “mousy?” as in a meek person in general or was I so blinded by this person’s potential love (key word potential because he was giving me nothing to go on from the start) that I made myself dull to be more accommodating or “easier to love?”
I am used to being called “Firecracker!” by strangers who meet me the first time, and told I have an energy that is delightful but I fell trap to this rebound that lasted six months too long. If I am being honest I made myself into a gray version of myself because not only did I want so desperately to be in a relationship (having ended a very serious three year one before this), I also on some deep internal level did not trust this person to see ALL of me. And again, that’s ok! But I should have trusted my instincts that consistently screamed “Get Out Now!” instead of continuing to make myself small for a person who honestly was worthless.
Never have I been consistently treated like garbage since my early 20s – when girls typically let all kinds of shady shit slide. I somehow convinced myself that’s what I deserved and that maybe that’s how a “normal” relationship is supposed to work, and I just didn’t get the memo. My gut told me “to walk” over and over again and with each ignorance of my instinct, I became even duller in my opinion.
At the dark core at it (sorry to bring it back to the dark place), I was simply afraid to be alone – to die alone. My clock is ticking and I can hear it mocking me, “You need to settle now to have someone in the bitter end.” But honestly fuck you! To people who drive this cookie cutter idea of what love is supposed to be down our throats. I want to stand alone in the end, loving myself, and if someone joins me, that’ll just be the icing on an already delicious cake!
So Where Do I Begin and Where Do I End? I’m still figuring it out but I am taking the time to do that. I do know I shine brighter when by myself and after each break up, I return to an even better version of who I am. I’m learning…and if my unnecessarily long rebound taught me anything – it taught me to take time to heal and sort through the mental baggage that comes from all those scary and real feelings when something that you thought would be special comes to be trashed.
I will not make myself smaller to fit into anyone’s misguided idea of a box for me,
“Just because it isn’t an “official” holiday doesn’t mean it’s not important (like *coughs* the most important). Truly, if you’re going to pick one “fake” holiday to get pumped about, it shouldn’t be National Pizza or whatever else…it should be Galentine’s Day.”
According to Urban Dictionary, Galentine’s Day is celebrated on February 13, the day before that other made-up holiday (ahem, Valentine’s Day). It’s a day for celebrating the love you have for your lady friends, whether they’re single or not. Basically, it’s a day dedicated to showering your closest friends with love and attention…more than you do every other day.
Excellent question! The best thing about Galentine’s Day is that it was created by a fictional character: Leslie Knope of Parks and Recreation. In 2010, the second season of Parks and Rec included an episode called “Galentine’s Day,” in which Leslie gathers a group of her closest gal pals for a brunch of waffles and love. “Every February 13, my lady friends and I leave our husbands and our boyfriends at home and we just come and kick it, breakfast-style,” Leslie says in the episode. “Ladies celebrating ladies.” And thus, Galentine’s Day was unofficially added to everyone’s calendar. No, seriously: According to TheAtlantic, it’s such a widely recognized fake holiday that some companies now run Galentine’s Day promotions. What could be more real than that? ((Where Did Galentine’s Day Come From – When Is Galentine’s Day (cosmopolitan.com))
I am celebrating my first Galentine’s Day with my best friend tomorrow on the heels of a break-up, ironically we decided to celebrate it before we broke up. I think in my heart of hearts I made these plans because I knew this relationship was never meant to last. I also shamelessly did not want to “not” acknowledge Valentine’s Day because last year I was in a very loving relationship and actually had a Ball! So I did not want to be disappointed this year or rather I did not want to feel that deep pit in my stomach (you all know the one). So I arranged some back up in the form of Galentine’s Day!
Yes I realize, we’re celebrating a day early but that’s due to schedules, the point is – the idea of showering your friend with love will be had! I wrote my best friend a love letter as part of a joke, but I do bear my soul and tell her how much I do genuinely care and appreciate her. I was mentioning to her how I wanted to write a love letter (to my now ex) and that I couldn’t think of anything nice to say and how the fuck was I supposed to write it at this rate!? And she said “fuck him! write me a love letter!” And then I explained to her Galentine’s Day and how we should celebrate it! She agreed!
So tomorrow I will be drinking wine and making crafts with my true love – my best friend! I will admit I’m a little broken hearted over the end of my relationship but I recognize it was not for me, like AT ALL. Who doesn’t love a day that celebrates loving your lady friends? I’ma love the shit out of this woman tomorrow. I like plan to shower this woman with affection! I even made her a cupcake!
But it shouldn’t just be the day, either Valentine’s Day or Galentine’s Day, that spurs you to action to give the one’s you love attention. Sprinkle Love everywhere…
I was looking through my old journals and sketch books for content for my book I am writing on my memoirs and unfortunately but fortunately stumbled upon this sketch and was reminded of how I used to feel and was a little shocked by the date this was drawn. As long as I can remember or at least vividly since I was 12, I recall struggling with deep deep depressions, the type that linger and leave you feeling deflated like there’s no hope or way out. I would spend hours crying in bed contemplating death, the meaning of life, what I deemed my shitty existence and when it was really bad I turned to darker thoughts – of ultimately ending my life. I always felt different and more emotional than other children, then teenagers, then adults. I reflected on everything, literally everything in painstaking detail. One simple thought could spin into ten others and suddenly I was wondering, “why am I alive? What’s the point of this? if this is all there is.”
I would later discover I have bipolar disorder type one and am thus prone to these deep depressions as part of a cycle involving periods of mania as well. I was up and then down, up again then crashing down back again, over and over again – it felt like a rollercoaster from hell. I naively thought my depression stemmed from feeling stuck as a child and then teenager in a city I hated, at a school I hated and resented with people I came to loathe. I thought by choosing a University far away in a large city would diminish these feelings and I would be more happy. This worked for awhile and proved a great distraction and new adventure but the pendulum is always swinging with my disorder and it would swing back into the dark depths of my mind again, and even harder this time.
I remember one month I did not leave bed to do anything except study and attend class when I did not accidentally sleep through it, always feeling lethargic since depression does take a physical toll on the body. I lost friends to my depression and one was brave enough to tell me the truth, that he could not bare to watch me fall further into the dark and he could not continue to try to rescue me from my mind. One of the scariest moments of my life was when I was put on antidepressants for the first time and was living on my own from home with roommates. I went to take a bath to relax and heard voices telling me to kill myself, to “just do it” and I had flashes of myself slitting my wrists and the blood draining into the tub. It felt visceral, so much so that I immediately jumped out of the tub, ran to my room and called my family who begged me to take a leave of absence from school and come home.
I would ultimately take this leave, spend months and I mean months in my bed watching tv to distract my mind from the swirling thoughts that I was not good enough and I could not cut it in this life. I would gradually recover, go back to school, then had my first psychotic episode leading to my official diagnosis of bipolar disorder. I experienced delusions and hallucinations that were not real and would eventually return home again to recover from this episode since my brain was super foggy from all the medications I could not even dream of studying so intensely as to finish my degree. This is when it turned darker for me and I would have my first ever suicide attempt (a silly one I’ll admit but the intent was very real) and subsequently be hospitalized for a few months for a major depressive episode featuring suicidal ideations.
On the 20th of November 2014, I was put on a form 1 at the Emergency Room after having confessed that I was experiencing frequent suicidal thoughts and that they were growing worse. My mother took me to the hospital after I admitted to her that during the night I tried to kill myself through water intoxication – drinking too much water. I had researched it and thought it was the easiest way to end my life without any pain or suffering. I drank several litres in a very short amount of time and became quite bloated and ended up puking it all up. It’s much harder to do than it sounds and as silly as it sounds it was my cry for help. It resulted in me being hospitalized for depression and I was put on a form one during my intake which allows a doctor to hold you in a psychiatric facility for up to 72 hours for psychiatric evaluation.
In my medical records it states that I admitted my thoughts of suicide were growing stronger over the past month prior to coming to the hospital. I mentioned I would have liked to inhaled gas fumes from a vehicle but had no access to a car. I theorized about drowning myself but realized it would be too painful and I would ultimately reactively grasp for air at the last second. I mention staying awake all night pacing the house while contemplating suicide. I remember vividly searching on Google obsessively ways to kill yourself without it hurting and continually came up with nothing that I had the means to do. I spent hours upon hours scouring the internet for a way out because I couldn’t see the point of living anymore. I felt like I had lost everything.
The thoughts became too much to bear and gradually shifted to even darker ones. I began to wonder “what is the point of life?” I have no purpose and if I have nothing to live for then maybe I should kill myself.” I convinced myself the struggle of my life and the deep-rooted shame I felt at having lost my mind, not just metaphorically but literally and clinically, was too much to handle. Needless to say I was not successful on my one and only suicide attempt. It scared me though into telling someone – my mother – that I was experiencing persistent suicidal thoughts. I may not have killed myself up until that point but I could not be certain I would not try again, next time with something more lethal.
In the hospital, I would receive the medication that I needed and would be put on for life. I am happy to say I have not had suicidal thoughts or tendencies since this very dark episode. I was brave enough to reach out for help when I realized I could no longer help myself or my thoughts. My advice if you are struggling with these thoughts is to tell somebody, anybody before its too late. Go to the hospital, admit yourself, ask for help. There are all kinds of helplines as well if you feel you need to be talked off a ledge or just want to talk to someone in general (Google is your friend). But more importantly, you are not alone, many of us have been to that dark, scary place in our brains and I am proof you can come back and see the light.
Recently I posed the question, “What does mentally ill look like?” on a picture of me on Instagram. I wrote the following in the description, “What does mental illness look like? People look at me and assume I’ve never been there. Why? Because I dress fashionably? Because I crack jokes and smile often? Reflect on your snap judgements of people based on their appearances and challenge them because in reality you’ll never truly know the demons they battle everyday and hide from the world. I struggle with bipolar disorder type one and have had multiple full blown episodes of mania where I completely lost touch with who I was or what reality is. I may not look the part but I’ve been in the throes of depression, I’ve cried more tears than I care to admit and THAT is why I smile and laugh often cause I choose to see and enjoy the light when I can and am capable. What does mental illness look like? It looks like your daughter, your nephew, your neighbour or the cashier at the local grocery store. Everyone has known struggle but some of us tuck it away better than others. Challenge your judgements, be kind to others cause you never truly know what they are or have gone through.”
My biggest pet peeve is when people first find out I am bipolar and turn to me and exclaim, “You? You don’t look like you’d be bipolar!” Like what does that even mean? Call me jaded but I feel it’s like them saying, “You don’t look crazy!?” There is still stigma around mental health and mental illness to this day despite many people like me trying to actively combat it. I write this blog so people may know a type-A overachiever like myself who seems like “she has it all put together” can also fall victim to having a mental illness and that it does not define you as a person, however for me personally, it’s a large part of what has made me quite frankly well – Me! There’s this idea perpetuated in the media and through film that mentally ill people are generally disheveled looking, talk to themselves or in most cases live on the streets.
The scariest generalization I personally think is that mentally ill people are violent. There are incidences when this is true but its way less common than believed to be. One of the very few times I’ve felt discriminated against was because of this erroneous belief. One of my old high school friends recently explained why we never chill at his place anymore and it’s because since he mentioned I was diagnosed with bipolar to his mom, she is scared for his safety when he is with me. She believes I will turn violent and have some kind of outburst towards him. I find this highly offensive and a little annoyed my friend did not feel the need to stick up for me and instead meets me secretly at the local coffee shop whenever he is in town. I am a very generous, understanding and forgiving person though so ultimately I let this go.
This is real life folks, not One Who Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. For example, my mental illness is more prevalent in the population than you would think: More than 5.7 million American adults or 2.6 percent of the population age 18 or older in any given year have bipolar disorder. And you’re going to try and tell me that they are all bat-shit crazy or violent? Mental illness can be treated contrary to whatever bullshit has been spun about it. On the right medication, a person with bipolar, schizophrenia, etc., can live a relatively normal and productive life. I will admit I have experienced psychoses which are complete breaks with reality but I never had any violent tendencies just delusional thoughts about who I was and what I was experiencing. The first one led to my diagnosis and was obviously a result of being mentally ill without proper medication and the second time was induced by a poor choice in medication prescribed by a well meaning but quite frankly moronic psychiatrist. I have been stable for over five years now that I found the right medication and take it regularly. I don’t look quote on quote crazy for a “mentally ill” person cause quite honestly I am not.
Mentally ill should not be congruous with “crazy.” I find that offensive and way off base, rather an ignorant view. There are people who murder, steal, cheat and are just in general assholes with no mental illness, so what’s their excuse? The reason I do not look mentally ill at first glance is because I got my shit together and because at the core I don’t hide behind bipolar as an excuse for my actions or behavior. I’ll admit it has impacted my life both positively and negatively but at the end of the day I take full ownership of that as being on me, Brittany, not “Bipolar Brittany.” I am everything despite this disorder – I am loyal to a fault (seriously If I love you I will support you to no end and never pass judgement), I am honest also sometimes to a fault (don’t come to me if you want something sugar coated), I am open minded and try to relate to people and life in general on a higher ground, constantly looking for meaning. I am all these lovely things and also not so lovely ones like lazy, unmotivated and anxious. I can easily say oooh that’s just because of the bipolar but I don’t – that’s a cop out and a way to which I choose not to live my life.
My biggest pet peeve is the stigma around these mental disorders and the fear to be identified as having one. My mother is well meaning but freaks out every time I meet someone new and “came out” as bipolar. I am always super upfront about my illness maybe annoyingly so. I mention it on the first date with any new potential lover because they should be aware of it and so I know based off their reaction whether or not I want to pursue that relationship any further. I will not have bigoted people in my life, I won’t, I can’t for my own mental health. People are alike in that we all have gone through some heavy shit. Some of us hide it better than others and some people like me enjoy talking about that struggle openly so others may know its normal. You’re not an alien for being depressed, for grieving loss, or in my case having lost your mind. You’re human and that’s how I feel we should relate to one another – as humans who are muddling through this scary and intense experience that is life.
Just be mindful the next time you throw the word “crazy” out there to describe someone or watch how you judge someone based off the way they appear. You genuinely do not know or will ever truly understand where they are coming from unless you take the time to get to know their struggle.
Now, I realize “Death” is a loaded topic but I am going to glaze over the scary bits here. I am going to focus on the “idea” of death and how depending on your view of it, can affect the entire way you go about your life and more specifically affect your mental health. I have had both healthy and not healthy curiosity towards death and my ultimate demise. If you view your demise – as I do now – you can focus more on your life as a positive force. I see death as something happening in the future and which is inevitable. I do not pretend to know when, where, how or why? I will die and try not to fixate on that so much but I do accept death for what it is – the toll you must pay for having lived a life. I also see death as motivation to make each day count and try to love, respect, and impart knowledge to the ones I love whenever I can.
As I write about my current view on death, one of my favourite songs by Macklemore called “Glorious” comes to mind. He sings in it, “I heard you die twice, once they bury you in the grave/ And the second time is the last time that somebody mentions your name/ So when I leave here on this earth, did I take more than I gave?” I believe that you never die if you make a difference or an impact on the lives around you. I also think as a writer, you have a certain power to immoralize your voice, especially if you speak with conviction and on a topic that calls to the universal human spirit. I want to write about my struggle with mental health and how I regained control of my mind after losing it to negativity and ultimately insanity. I want to inspire others who feel as if they are about to give up, to keep on going cause Fuck, most of us have been there.
I currently view death as inspiration, as one giant biological clock ticking serving to remind me that time’s almost up – time to make and inspire change. One may think this is morbid that I think of death at all, that I should quietly push it to the back of mind like we ‘re encouraged to do in society in general. Now, I believe that is more unhealthy – to avoid thinking or reflecting on the end of our being. We will one day perish and the weight of what a life means to us is contingent on how you relate to that fact. If you’re an analytical thinker such as myself, you’ve thought about your demise in multiple perspectives and the reality is no matter how much or little you analyze it, death is inevitable. So why ponder it at all? I think to think about death is to be more alive. It reminds you that each moment could be taken for granted and spurs you to experience more than you would have before.
However, when the pendulum of “thinking” about death swings and leads to “obsessing” over death, you then enter the danger zone and your mental health starts to plummet. If you think about death constantly and negatively you may fall into an attitude towards life of “What’s the fucking point?” This is how I felt when I swung or rather crashed from mania to depression in my bipolar cycles. (prior to stabilization and recovery) I would not even leave bed for days on end picturing my ultimate death, and sometimes in graphic details, as a reason to not even bother. If I struggled just to make ends meet and get by (and in my opinion had nothing to show for my life so far) why should I exert even more effort to live when in the end it amounts to nothing…literally dust. The idea of death also mocked me as I experienced the more serious bouts of my mental illness. I thought to myself, “I am going to die one day, literally cease to exist and majority of my early 20’s – what should be the best years of my life – was lost to a tortured mind.”
I also had an extremist view on death prior to my diagnosis which led to an unhealthy view that I must have a “YOLO” attitude towards everything. I literally justified doing every hard drug I ever tried and experimented with in my early 20s on that catch phrase, “You Only Live Once!” I put myself in a lot of dangerous situations because of my morbid fascination and unhealthy view of death. I figured if I was going to die, I might as well die living life as an adventure. I would later learn that was probably the undiagnosed mania talking. I also had a strong belief I was meant to die at a young age.
I believe like most things in life, my view and relationship to death has evolved with time. I am not saying there is a right or wrong way to look at it but if your obsession with death is affecting your mental health to the point you do not want to engage fully with life, then there is a problem. But do not believe you’re “messed up” for thinking about or wanting to reflect on it from time to time. It’s a very real finite end to everything you built for yourself. But let me plant a seed in your mind – maybe it’s not just getting by that should consume your life but also building a legacy for yourself through something positive like helping others. Who says death gets the last word?
“I heard you die twice, once when they bury you in the grave. And the second time is the last time that somebody mentions your name.” (Macklemore)
So I’m going to write about something so stereotypical around this time of year…New Year’s Resolutions. Each year I set general ones which I inevitably forget about in a month’s time but this year I am going to do my best to set tangible, reachable, time sensitive goals – if you ever went to any career building workshop, you’ll also recognize these as S.M.A.R.T goals. So what is the difference between your run of the mill goal and a SMART goal? A SMART goal is specific, measurable, attainable, realistic and timely. They’re called SMART for a reason in that they hold you more accountable since you have to do a little bit of strategizing on how you’re going to complete this goal (Measure it? Time it?) and not just set it.
I tend to shy away from making these goals cause I feel I’ll be disappointed when I do not meet them after putting effort into thinking not only about the goal but how I can achieve it. If I am being completely honest this avoidance stems mostly from laziness and a fear that if I put effort into creating a SMART goal and it does not manifest, I will only prove myself right again in my negative generalized idea that I am destined to be a failure. But no more! New Year, New Me? Huh? I also think that expression “New Year, New Me” is a little ridiculous. I believe in life in general you should always be striving for greatness and growth but do not necessarily throw out all the good parts about yourself you may be neglecting. So without further ado…I have two major SMART goals I would like to set for 2021 and a few general ones that I will address.
My first SMART Goal? You’ve heard it before but this time I will be tracking my progress through a calendar and setting a time frame for it – To Quit Smoking! (once and for all) They say you never truly quit until you’re ready and I was just not in the right frame of mind to do the past five years of my life and the past two years that I tried on and off to quit. I want to be one year smoke free on this date in 2021. I quit last Monday and have not smoked since. What is different this time around? I am holding myself accountable. I intend to write down each day that I break down and have a cigarette and how many to be precise.
What is also different is my view and thoughts towards it. In just over a week smoke free, I have noticed I cringe when I smell smoke whereas before it would trigger me to light up or I would be so desensitized to the smell (having constantly being in it), I would not even notice. It now literally triggers a gag reflex and I do not enjoy it. I also am more sensitive to the idea of a set back this time around. I have decided that if I do give in and smoke I will smoke that one cigarette and re-set my quit date to that moment right after and acknowledge that I am human, and that in reality “that one smoke I just smoked today is better than the twenty I usually smoke in a day and to get back on the quitting train.” This is vastly different from any other thought processes I had in previous attempts at quitting where I would break down, have that cigarette than use it to justify smoking even more since what’s the point? I already smoked one.
It’s like my counsellor said (oh yeah, I go to a STOP smoking program as well currently) that it’s about decreasing that bond of my brain to nicotine. There’s a reason they call it the most addicting substance in the world. If I can just slowly remove myself from nicotine and my habit of “rewarding” myself with cigarettes I believe I can eventually remove it all together for good. I am currently using the patches which I was being supplied in other times I tried to quit but never ever actually used them consistently and properly. This time around I am sticking one on every day until I am ready to decrease it in size and then remove them all together. Another stereotypical thing you hear when quitting smoking is to DISTRACT. I am working on writing and reading and painting more as a way to ease the cravings and keep my mind off of them. But the most important difference I’ve noticed this time when quitting is my mindset. I have a new attitude towards it that is in my opinion very healthy and it can be summed up in a cliche, “Take it one day at a time.” I also believe if I can’t handle that then take it one hour, or even one moment at a time.” Trust me, the cravings do and will actually come to pass.
My other and final SMART Goal is to have the first draft of my nonfiction book (about my life and struggle with my mental health as a person with Bipolar Type One) written again, one year from today. I have set the goal of writing 100,000 words at a rate of 1,500 per day on average. I know what you’re thinking…this girl sucks at Math! But hear me out! This accounts for days dedicated to revising and researching. It also allows some slack days when I know, I just know I won’t want to push myself. I will be tracking this goal on NaNoWriMo which is a site for writers to literally set time sensitive writing goals and track them as they move towards these goals. I intend to post my goal on my wall to serve as a daily reminder of what I want to work towards and achieve this year. I may also post a little thermometer which is a thing us English majors did – to color in different milestones of word counts when writing big research papers. To visually see progress, encourages you to continue and helps you have an idea of how far away or how close you are to your set goal.
My run of the mill goals – ABS! Haha, I wish I was kidding but I am a little vain and used to have a very visible six pack in my youth and early twenties. I intend to work towards this goal by being mindful of working out consistently and being very aware of the trash I tend to feed myself. I also want to blog more! And will be working on some new content more often than ever before. This blog is now on its own Domain (if you hadn’t noticed) and therefore owned by me! It was the first step I made in becoming more serious as a blogger. The next will be to build more consistent content and build a followership (if you have any tips on that, please, please, please shoot me an email with advice! I eat that shit up!). I also now own and have rights to the logo pictured below. It was to be honest a spur of the moment purchase but I am looking forward to making business cards soon and sharing the word of this blog more!
I want you to know your goals are valuable and deserve to be shouted from the roof tops! And at the very least, if you’re not comfortable with that, write them down somewhere you can remind yourself and hold yourself accountable. We all deserve to test our potential and we should want to embrace change. For example, last year I set a really important goal for myself to lose enough weight to be 130 pounds (at the time I was 155 which is a little too much for a short bitty such as myself). I am happy to say as of today, I weigh 117 pounds. I crushed that goal! But I set time limits and tracked my progress (as nerdy as this sounds) on a graph. I wrote down each time I went to the gym in a week to be aware whether or not I was meeting my three gym sessions a week, I had and quite frankly the doctor had, prescribed. Your goals are achievable quite frankly if you believe they are (and obviously if reasonable). But I am going to share with you one secret – they don’t come easy. You have to strategize how to achieve them and sometimes why? The why is important to those of us who need to be reminded what our motivation is, for those days when we just feel like we don’t give a flying fuck about anything.
So Why? Why set Goals this year?
For me it’s simple – I want to be a forever changing better version of myself. I want to be standing somewhere completely different next year – somewhere better.