Mental Health

On Saturday night I had the privilege of attending the "Idea Exchange" at Aqua Books (which is a quaint and jam packed used book store that is just lovely). They do this evening once a month and pick a topic of discussion. A brief presentation is followed by the opportunity to ask questions and discussion ensues with hot, strong coffee.

This time the focus was on mental health and the spiritual component I have a lot to say on the topic of mental illness. It's kind of personal. I'm in what one would call "recovery". They don't talk about "cure" for this kind of thing. Even if it only takes you down once, you get tagged with a diagnosis. Or more often, multiple diagnoses.

I have strong and conflicting thoughts and feelings about when I hit bottom. Most of the time I think I have concrete thoughts. It's well versed in my head. But then I open my mouth and my words just fall out and hit the floor. So most of the time, I stay quiet.

In some ways it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I learned a lot about who I was, what I believed, and found direction. It shaped me more than anything in my past has. It taught me how to deal with uncomfortable emotions, how to be honest, how to fight life's battles. I met lifelong friends and we walked the uncomfortable path towards healing together.

But in many ways - more ways, I think - it was the worst of times. I remember not seeing any light. I remember being forsaken by God. I remember paralyzing fear. I hurt friends. I made terrible choices. My whole being ached from the inside out while I sat in those hospital walls, looking out the window and seeing life continue at the University as if the world hadn't fallen apart. I remember the alone-ness. And friendships that didn't make the storm.

I'm better now. Sometimes I think I'm better now than I was before the person who got so sick. Stronger. And sometimes I believe the exact opposite. I think about the past with blanks. Someone recalls a memory that included me and my mind can't find it. The memories I do have occasionally visit my dreams or invade my thoughts. Mostly I think of people I hurt and disappointed. I think "that wasn't me." I don't want to remember because it hurts. It still hurts.

Most of the people in my life these days get it. They knew me before, during, and after. They've done research and educated themselves. They respect me and think I'm strong. They believe that mental illness should be open for discussion. Not hidden in the perfectness of religion or image. My friends, family, husband surround me and lift me up, accepting all of my past, present, and future. They strive to connect with others who struggle as they did when they watched someone they loved falter. They make me proud.

Occasionally someone just doesn't get it. They don't get that some struggles last in some forms for a lifetime. Or that my normal isn't theirs. And it frustrates me. Usually these are the people who don't really know me at all. I only talk to people I trust about these sorts of things. I said it's personal. You can't know unless you've been there. Or walked to the edge with someone who has.

The old patterns and thoughts are usually tucked away in a safe place. Usually. Sometimes they re-appear in my thoughts. Rarely in my actions. My brain tells me that my body isn't perfect and that it must be. Anxiety grabs ahold. But I'm stronger than that right now. It may take me a little while to realize it, but once I do I'm in a position to win. I know who my supports are. I know where and when to go for help.

Mental illness. Oh yeah. It's personal.