There are millions of people out there suffering from some sort of mental illness be it depression, some sort of anxiety, OCD, schizophrenia, sociopath, psychopathy, PTSD, ADHD, Bipolar disorder, and so forth. Do you ever wonder what those people must be feeling? I certainly do. Are they feeling like I felt in my teens when I had no idea why I acted the way I did. I was told by friends and some family members that it was because my dad wasn't there, or because my father had had a temper but I knew that could not be it. I felt lost in a big world with a brain I didn't understand. When bad things came my way, no matter how big or small, it changed the way I felt instantly. I thought I was broken, something was wrong with me. I broke phones, glasses, pans, windows, my wrist, toes (from kicking things), hurt others with my vicious words, and struggled. I still struggle daily but at least now I know why and that makes it a little easier. I have learned to cope with having mental illness, and I have learned to be humble and apologize. I will never be able to stop myself from fixating on one thing that hurt me, or feel so hurt I fall deep down, and I won't be the typical average 'non-mentally ill' person (whatever that may mean). I will always struggle to hold my tongue, focus my mind on not raging or getting angry, and my greatest fear is I will never learn to cope with dealing with work everyday. I have a hard time coping with school 4 days a week, so I fear not being able to do what I want in life (unless I find a way to do it at home). I am going to present here a tale from my life that affected me forever. An event that affected me and caused my 'episodes' to start. While I am positive bipolar disorder is just in my genetic code because I have done therapy for this specific part of my life several times, I do believe this set me off earlier than if this hadn't happened. I am opening up on something I HATE talking about so please no harsh commenting, and at the end of this post you will understand why I telling you this. So here goes it.
As a young girl I was raped. I was 12 and he was 24. My friends and me went to a friend of a friends house and I had my first 40 (big mistake kids to think you are ready for that when you are not). In the end I was left passed out in some strangers bedroom. I awoke to a man, who was much bigger and stronger than me, maybe 6 Ft or so, on top of me. I looked around panicking, not knowing what I should do. Do I yell? If I yell he might hit me. Do I try and run? No he will probably hit me. And that's the answer I just kept coming to. My 12 year old body was drunk, and was so trapped and afraid of what was about to happen. Trying with all my might to get up from under him and I just felt paralyzed. Holding my one wrist he ended up getting the clothes off below the waist and here I am frozen in terror. I felt so horrified. I remember tears coming down the side of my face silently. I could muster up only the courage to say this "I'm a virgin please don't hurt me". The sick bastard smiled at that. I won't ever forget that look. EVER. My wrist was released but I had no power. My tiny short body was stuck under this disgusting piece of s**t. I wanted to die. I tried pushing him off me but realized the more I fight the more he will fight and I just waited. I waited to be set free. When I was I b lined my way out of that house. Dazed and not really knowing what just happened, what I should do, and where exactly I was I just started walking.
The worst part was I didn't want to say anything because I felt humiliated. I felt like nothing. I felt that what was special about me wasn't special anymore. I didn't know what to tell my friends, and I definitely did not know what to tell my mom. I simply said I lost my virginity to friends and mindlessly answered questions and the whole time I was doing this the image of me dying was in my mind. The image of me, at 12, dying was all I saw. I was so mortified I feared telling my friends the truth. I don't really know why but that's how I felt. My mom figured it out. I asked 'Do tampons break your hymen?" She immediately knew something was wrong. She asked me "Did you have sex?" I swallowed my vomit and said 'kind of'. She was starting to get the point. When I told her he was 24, told her my friends got me drunk, told her 'no I don't know if he wore a condom because I was not awake when he got atop me', she flipped like any mom would and took me to the police station.
I tell this story because this is what I thought caused all my issues. I'm sure it caused a lot, and I am sure it slowly formed my panic disorder, and my rage that usually is worse with men but I do not believe it is what caused me to be bipolar, it only made my episodes worse. I look at my younger sister who is 12 and think about how tiny she is. She is strong, but she is tiny. She is a child. She is so innocent. Her skin has not met time yet and her body has not even taken shape yet. I am 28 and I look at her and see a baby. How any 'man' could look at a young child like that and watch them get drunk and then rape them is far past my ability to understand.
When I first saw a psychologist he asked me if I had every been abused in anyway and I shortly said yes, I was raped. I refused to talk about it because it always would throw me into an 'episode' as my mother would say. He backed off the subject and discussed how abuse affects the mentally ill, how holding it in exacerbates it, and how to try and combat my rage. Note: I went to a doctor finally because I was raging out on everyone so I needed help.
I had come to realize that I CANNOT let that disgusting worthless pos take me down. I may always have to deal with bipolar disorder and panic disorder, but I can get some control by not letting his actions control my outlook.
It took me a long time to realize that even though I can be absolutely nuts sometimes, that I do not deserve bad treatment, that I don't have to turn a blind eye to a douchebag boyfriend cheating, and that even with my crazy moments my mind is wonderful and I can offer something to this world because of my experiences. I can tell my story and hope it helps others. I know that what happened to me is awful but by working through it I helped my coping skills. Much more has happened to me since then that was not pleasant but it gave me perspective.
I sometimes do wonder though how would I be if that hadn't happened to me? Would I have lived differently? Would I have chosen the path I did as a teen? Would I have had such a bad bipolar break and panic disorder?
I answer these questions as such:
If that had not happened to me I may have lived a life without actual knowledge or understanding of what people are capable of. We all hear these stories and all see news videos of gruesome events but most of us think that will never happen to me, or we see it, recognize it, but have this strange habit of not really thinking of it as real. I dealt with this in reality so I have an inside perspective. I have more empathy for victims of all sorts of crimes, which makes me try and be moral and kind. However, my knowledge of this kind of abuse led me to realize how awful this world can be. Because I can empathize so much when people are mistreated I feel deeply. This deep feeling is ignited by bipolar disorder and I drown into a manic state. So deep I won't leave the house or I will go MIA and not talk to anyone but my mom and husband. So maybe if this hadn't happened my manic stages wouldn't be so severe, but I learned I have to find silver linings or I will become very sorrowful. So I am able to see the world in a different way than most; I see the world without blinders and that makes it easier for me to connect the dots in life.
This awful experience caused me to delve deep into my academics as a young teen. However, even though I was offered several full ride scholarships I turned them down. I was not ready. I had too much going on in my head and I had no clue what I would even go for. I ended up taking a couple classes here and there at the community college and hated it so I stopped. I worked under the table and learned a lot about what really happens in this world and not just what media wants us to think, or what materialistic people see. The world can be disgusting, greedy, addicted, and dirty but can also be moving, kind, and beautiful. Through this stage in life I could not control my illness. I would have 'episodes' all the time. I didn't like staying at one job for too long, hated working on a specific schedule, and hated having a boss. I couldn't cope with it. I was so dysfunctional. The psychiatrist put me on Abilify and Cymbalta which just put me into a sedative state, while the Cymbalta caused another manic episode. I soon learned I needed out of my real life lifestyle. I needed to get away from the guy I was dating who made me go crazy, and I needed to let my intelligent mind work.
I went back to university with a scholarship (6 or so years after high school I still got the scholarship). I have been to so many doctors trying to help me mentally and physically and I had seen the discrimination first hand.
I'm sure I am not the only tattooed bipolar person that has been drug tested with no reason to even suspect abuse (I never failed any of them). I also felt I was sometimes treated poorly or condescendingly because I was bipolar. One doctor refused to listen to me about how sick I was feeling and he insisted it was anxiety and a mania stage. I of course flipped out and he of course dickishly said "see it's just your bipolar disorder". The next day I had emergency surgery to get my appendix removed because it was about to burst. So my intentions are to advocate for patients via ethical systems. I am sick of feeling like I need to keep things hidden, or like I will be stigmatized or discriminated against just because I need specific meds. I don't want anyone to deal with all of the BS I have dealt with. I want to advocate for the mentally ill, especially when it comes to bipolar disorder as so many people have asked "oh come on are you really bipolar? I think that is just an excuse. Bipolar disorder isn't real is it?" That always hurts and reminds me why I like staying inside. But as my panic disorder progresses and I cope with rapid cycling bipolar I find myself more determined to tell people all about my experiences. It may take forever but if this helps one person it is worth it. If one person can learn what it feels like to deal with this it will be worth it. Every experience that drives my anxiety or throws me into an 'episode' gives me more perspective. Learning to deal with doctors is important too. So while I have here written a novel, it was to show that while many find it hard to express their problems, experiences, or how they were abused and how that affects them, that letting it out is helpful. It is calming. I find some peace from my minds antics when I write and I find sanctuary in books and others' writings about their experience. I am here to support anyone that needs it. I am writing to help myself and hopefully others. I am here to show those who think its not real, or an excuse, that it is more complex than they can imagine. And I want to write this so those that have someone who deals with bipolar disorder and/or panic disorder can maybe get an inside look on how we think, our process in thought, how we link things together, and perhaps then understand why certain things put together can make us snap. I wrote my long story today to shed some light on how I process when I am manic, to see how far I have come (or maybe not lol), and to recognize what is on my mind that I didn't realize was even causing my depression today.
I know this was long so thank you for reading this if you made it down to here
Pass the links to the posts along to those who may not understand bipolar or panic disorder but need to, or to those who are having a hard time coping. I am more than happy to try and give advice. Thanks
Lea Silva
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