Where ya been?
First things first, no more trigger warnings. I feel like the worlds gone fucking mad, putting trigger warnings on everything even bloody cat stories.
If you are Triggered by something you read or see. You have not dealt with it and you need to get a therapist, Deal with that shit! Stop living a life where the slightest sideways fart sends you of the deep end.
Also, if you are triggered by what I just wrote. Grow up, mental illness is an asshole not some prissy lets’ hold hands at a tea party bullshit you all keep making it out to be.
Right, where the fuck was I?
In less than a month, a significant milestone in my life will for the 2nd time, roll around. It will mark 2 years since I survived suicide after being so burdened by my own mental illness, I just could not fight the war anymore.
Sure, I could (and have) blamed others for it, Marriage breakdown or people in my life, but I will not, because I cannot, it is just not true.
Fact of the matter is I am sick, and that sickness wanted me dead (still does). It didn’t matter how many drugs I took or how much I tried to bury it under other destructive behaviour it only got worse and lead to one of the most epic mental illness episodes in my 35 years… surprise surprise, the cocaine made me worse…. idiot.
I could continue the story in detail the nitty gritty lead up the manic shit show that everyone has been asking me to tell…. not gonna Happen. It is far too painful for myself and those who love me to relive over and over. So instead, I am going to tell you the sequel… What came next after I tried to kill myself.
Most of you that have followed my blogs since the start of my recovery know about the first year, if you haven’t and don’t, go read my old blogs, don’t be lazy there’s no shortcuts in life read them your damn self. I have been rather quite during this last year being well does not really make for the most exciting reading. So here is the recap. I moved into a stable environment and I got help… lots of it.
I threw myself into therapy. GP, Psychiatrist and psychologist appointments took up nearly all my time. The rest was taken up with the jumping through hoops for Disability Employment services who just couldn’t understand why the heavily sedated man on copious amounts of strong sedative anti psychotics couldn’t make the 9am appointments to keep the payment that kept a roof over his head while he was sick.
I could not function because my medication dose was so much that I literally was barley awake at 10 or 11am. Life was not fun, but it was necessary. All these things especially the medication and my fantastic psychologist. My Psych figuring out what has been going on in my head, got me where I have never ever been before… recovery. A place where those of us who are mentally ill strive to be but rarely make it, it is not better or cured and at some point I will sell tickets to my epic downfall once again, but it is a well-managed place within us and our illness that gives us some kind of quality of life. Even the meds have settled in for the long haul and no longer knock me out for 18 out of 24 hours.
My mind is still a dick, I still struggle with suicidal ideation, anxiety (got hospitalised by it not too long ago), depression and mania. For now, the noise is not so loud and my alter identities are pretty locked up so that is a win. I have this clarity I have never had before, my memory is good, I have dreams, fuck I sleep! Oh, how I love sleep. I can think clearly and do great things, my mind is allowing me to work, succeed and for the most part be god damn happy! My life’s on track, well except for one court case coming up, (I am innocent, first time for everything I guess, ill fill you in after court in another blog) but other than that life’s good. Marriage is good and the relationship with my son is better than ever.
Moral of the story kids?
Being mentally ill is fucked, but we can keep it under control, it is fucking hard and we will Stumble and struggle more than most, but we can live a half decent life. We just need do the things that work, no matter how much it seems it is not working in the beginning.
And when I say therapy, I do not mean some fluffy bullshit or CBT, I mean some gnarly interpersonal, emotional psychotherapy shit. Stick it out, no matter how much you think it does not work at the start, you are wrong, shut the fuck up and keep going. It takes time sometimes years, but it works. Where have I been? looking after me, in therapy and living a good life while I can.
My names Ben I am diagnosed Bipolar and personality disorders. I am in recovery; I will always struggle but when I am well managed it is just that bit better… If I can do it, so you can you! What are you waiting for get of your ass, call your GP and take responsibility for your illness, you can thank me with cash deposits later!