I’ve been trying so hard to separate work life, and my Bipolar Affective Disorder, and I am learning quickly that it’s not an easy task to do, and I am just so confused on what my next step should be. I am wondering, or more so debating whether I should talk to my manager who is so sincere and nice, and just tell her my situation, in hopes of preventing being fired, due to lashing out, or not being as productive. I am a hard worker, and my manager has already told me this. Tomorrow will be my seventh shift at Target. So I am still a new employee. I had to take myself off Mirtazapine, just so I could wake up for the early morning shifts, and now I am experiencing the repercussions of doing just that. I need help, or more so advice. Please comment in the comment area. Thank you all!!
Tag Archives: personal story
It’s never easy to keep it together all the time. The expected notion of staying calm and pretending like nothing is bothersome. Well, NEWSFLASH! It’s not working. This is an area in which I like to call hiding behind a wall of perfection. Have you ever had a friend, coworker, or even a family member ask you what’s wrong? Did you truly believe that they REALLY, 100% wanted to actually know what was wrong with you? There are some odds betting that they really did not want to hear it. It’s human nature to ask a person, who in our terms isn’t their normal self, the question of what’s going on. As you are trying to hold onto that wall of perfection, you start to lose grip, and reality begins to hit. Deep down inside of you, somewhere, is a broken soul. So damaged beyond repair. You walk around with your heart on your shoulder, presenting this tough interior, when really, you’re about to collapse, and fall really hard. Emotions are tricky, and a lot of what we do, we tie our emotions into it. You might think that without your emotions, you won’t have to feel the pain. As it is true, it is also true that you won’t feel the good times. Your Doctor, Therapist, and even your Parents, they don’t understand. No matter how hard you try to express your pain, they can’t. For one simple reason: It’s your journey. You’re the one that’s supposed to understand. I could go on and on about how great life is, which it is, but I want to stress the importance of the pain you must deal with, as for it creates who you are. Trust me, I’ve been there, and to this day, will still find myself there at times. But let me tell you this: Life is a gift. How you choose to use it is up to you.
Today, thanks to better early detection, there are 63% fewer deaths from heart disease than there were just a few decades ago. Thomas Insel, Director of the National Institute of Mental Health, wonders: Could we do the same for depression and schizophrenia? The first step in this new avenue of research, he says, is a crucial reframing: for us to stop thinking about “mental disorders” and start understanding them as “brain disorders.” (Filmed at TEDxCaltech.)
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I always found myself walking on eggshells, careful not to upset him. You can never do anything right. You’re pathetic. You made me do this. How many times did I shudder when he lifted his arms above my head? I constantly found myself gasping for breath as I cried helplessly for hours, but how many times did he fall asleep to the sound of me hyperventilating? There were so many nights I found myself talking to myself. “How did I let this happen? How did I ever become one of those women?”
How many panic attacks did I endure after all those regular assaults? How many times did I hear that it was my fault? Every morning I’d get up and look in the mirror and never once recognized myself. I had so much hate for that broken woman staring back at me. How could she let this happen? How many times had she swore she’d tell someone, but believe him when he said he was sorry and that he loved her?
I believed his attacks were out of love. By hurting me, he showed he loved me. Maybe he just cared so deeply that his emotions were out of control and he couldn’t control himself. Then there was the day it went too far. The attacks went from physical, to sexual. I thought my life was over. I knew right from wrong. I knew what I had to do, but I was scared. The minute that happened, I swore I was going to leave. But truth is, I couldn’t.
Months pass by. My family was falling apart, I hated myself more than anything. I relapsed time after time. I considered suicide on a regular basis. I became his loyal servant. Come home – take his boots off. Cook dinner – make his plate. When everyone turned in and turned out the lights, I knew the position I had to take. For months I endured hell, all while putting on a smile and acting like I was perfectly fine.
When it was over, I wasn’t allowed to mourn him. How was I to know that love, hate, comfort and fear could coexist? How could I explain to people that I not only lost my abuser, but my companion? How do you explain it to yourself? How can you possibly miss someone who made your life a living hell for five long months?
There are still times when I remember tender moments and ask myself if it really was all that bad. If I just somehow exaggerated everything and made something out of nothing. I still struggle with understanding how he could love me to tears, but yet hurt me as if I was an enemy. I’m a child again. I’m slowly learning to redefine the borders of normal and toxic behaviors. I constantly have to remind myself that acts of violence can never be acts of love.
I now see my own reflection in other women who have dealt with and beat such darkness. All the women who are so courageous who finally realized that they are not alone and deserve so much more. And in myself, in my story, knowing that others were where I was not long ago makes the shame dissipate. I have learned to accept that both the love and the abuse existed and thus has allowed me to forgive myself. I realized that you are not what happened to you, but rather what you take from it. Bad things happen to good people and we may never know the reason, but just because you feel you deserve it doesn’t mean it is true.
Hi, my name is Jacob Michael White, and I’ve been in recovery for about 5 years now. A few months ago, if you were to ask me what recovery means to me, I wouldn’t have known what to say. If you were to tell me 5 years ago that I would start a blog on recovery, I would’ve laughed. If you ask me what led me to finally stop, and smell the roses, and start my path to recovery, I would tell you this:
I was tired of feeling like a failure, and felt that I was going nowhere with my life. Upon graduating high school, I had everything figured out to a tee, but then I let my illness define who I am, and the rest piled up from there. It was a long and depressing road. What changed me 2 months ago was being hospitalized for the third time in my life. This time was different though. This time I accepted that I was sick, and learned that I helped myself get there. I realized that things needed to change. So I started to make those changes possible, and therefore I created this blog, a guide to living in recovery. Which has helped on so many levels.
Since finding recovery, my life is actually a good one. I enjoy it. There are times when my bipolar symptoms get the best of me, but through therapy, I’m constantly learning to manage those vicious attacks from my mind.
A wise professional once told me, the only way you are going to continue to stay positive, and have less of your illness control your life is to simply just do it. In better words to understand this, just live your life, and enjoy it. The rest will follow.
At that moment, I realized that recovery is my option, and I am going to do recovery the best way I can, which is by attending therapy, getting medicine regulated and being social. Speaking up and reaching out has saved my life numerous times.
So if being on six different medicines and having to attend therapy makes you feel week, don’t let it. I’m an example of success and let me tell you, recovery is possible.
Why is everybody’s depression different? The answer you may be looking for might surprise you; Each individual is different, and what they go through will be different. No two people are alike. Our minds our wonderous things and we often view them as either a curse or a blessing.
Below are three different stories, in which shows you that each person’s depression is different:
Albert’s Story: I started getting depressed around age 11. I missed 15-30 days of school a semester from junior high through high school. The funny thing is, I didn’t know what was wrong at the time, which resulted in denial for years. Now I am 28 years old and am seeking professional help. I didn’t want to admit that I needed help. I wanted to do it myself.
Sally’s Story: I was in a way relieved when the doctor said my problem was depression because I thought something was really wrong. Depression, which was affecting my colon and gut—and it really worried me there because my dad died of cancer and I have lots of cancer in my family. But when I thought about what the doctor said, I realized that, yes, I am depressed.
Ben’s Story: Everything was going wrong. I was under a lot of pressure and stress. My shoulders started aching, and I got muscle spasms across my back. There was no reason for it. I’m usually very positive, but I wasn’t being rational. I noticed I wasn’t getting things done either.
As you can see, depression will affect everyone differently, which brings on different struggles and life stories.
Remember, with anything that involves the mind, be patient. It’s not going to happen overnight. With time and therapy, you just might find yourself improving your health. What are you going to do today, that will impact tomorrow?