Category: mental health

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Is there a difference between being supportive and understanding?

The short answer? Hell yes.

There is a difference between being supportive and understanding. Someone can tell you they support you and even mean what they say without putting forth much effort into understanding where you are coming from. The problem which lies in this is without the understanding of your dreams, goals, trauma, illness (etc.); is their support will never be fully committed if those things inconvenience them. For example, if your time for this supportive person becomes less so you may focus more on any of the list above or others. The inconvenience to them may make them act less than supportive and although they want to support you they do not want to sacrifice or have anything taken away from them. When someone does not understand your illness or even your dreams you might assume they would look further into it. Order a book on kindle explaining it in more details so they can actually have an understanding on a level closer to your own and help ease their own feelings about the situation or future situations that may arise. It amazes me how a little empathy can go a long way and how many people do not know the true definition of the word. I find people who suffer from empathy (as that is how it feels for me) often have a clearer understanding of what someone else is enduring or even enjoying. True empathy is a gift and a curse.

We all have to live our own lives, needing to take care of ourselves and sometimes others too. We all have dreams, goals and aspirations and some may never come to be. Many of us struggle; it’s hard to endure and it’s often hard for others to watch. Sadly, we live in a world where “I” and “me” trumps all things. A world where people care more about power, greed and social media like’s. A world where other people’s problems and struggles are an inconvenience to our own lives. A world where it sometimes seems is filled with the Violet’s and the Veruca’s of Willy Wonka’s, who think “I want” is the same thing as “I need” and won’t compromise such things for what someone else may need. We live in a time where people want things easy and do not want to work for anything, even if it would be worth it in the long run.

Which brings me to another heartbreaking point, when no one notices you fading away or your love for things dissipating. When you are too exhausted to sleep and respond with doing the bare minimum and it still seems to never be enough. When someone makes you feel worse because, “they are not enough to make you feel happy or better.” When you are told someone supports you or wants to help you but their actions do not correspond.

Just know, you can survive anything and you are enough. Though people may not like it, you have the power to change your circumstances. I won’t say it’s easy as it rarely is but it is within your power to change yourself and your circumstances. Waiting for help, relying on other people is a fairy tale or a day dream. People can change of course but if you wait for them to change for you, you will be waiting a very long time. People change for themselves.

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Today was a hard day

Today was a hard day. Days similar to today have tried to break me and sometimes I think where I find my strength is keeping it all deep inside of me wrapped up tightly with all the other things I bury for the sake of others.

I often write about how being bipolar feels to me. How depression binds me. I tend to shy away from sharing the part of what it is I actually go through to heal, to survive. The experiences themselves I hide only showing the pretty words strung together in a useable quote. To protect myself, to protect other’s maybe. Not today. Today I had to start over with a re-assesment of my mental health and well-being. I have come quite far from when I started my self-care just over five years ago. Yet, I cannot seem to do more than survive. 

I walked into the office feeling the same I do most days though it’s hard to describe. I mostly go through the motions of what needs to be done to get to the next day only to repeat the cycle. Lying to my brain that tomorrow, we can breathe, we can relax, we can have a good day and maybe we can do something we want to do without criticism, without guilt, without a time limit as my time has not been my own for such a long time now. So, I walk in and sit down and BamBam the therapy dog climbs up his giant stairs onto my psychiatrist’s desk and sits right in front of my face waiting for his pets.

Isn’t he adorable? So sweet and seemingly concerned of my well being. Throughout the session I would watch this look overtake my doctor filled with sadness, concern and so much empathy for what it is I endure. I was uncomfortable, I didn’t understand why? It seems that look is gone from so many familiar faces it was unrecognizable. Conditioned that what I endure is not as bad as it feels or not as severe because I am strong, because I survive, because I am a talented actress and the best performance of my life, is my life and because I am shown that I am selfish making such an experience feel unworthy. I fought tears during the 90 minute season as if crying was painful, or not allowed but really when I start I often cannot stop. Sure sometimes I want to be held, in silence but mostly I prefer these moments are when I am alone. I feel myself betraying myself by doing such a thing in front of another human being. Every part of my being screams to stop, Stop, STOP! I do temporarily, at least until she pokes another trigger.

I have control issues. Anytime I have “let go,” the consequences have been astronomical and I carry them always. They are as much a part of me as my bones, skin and blood is. The things that break me in session, are the same things that have been slowly killing me, making me sicker physically and mentally. It is part of who I am, to feel everything so intensely or feel nothing at all. I’m not really sure if that is part of my personality at this point or just a combination of Bipolar Disorder and all the other labels slapped on my chart. The main triggers, are naturally things I am not in control of. I drift while she types, watching BamBam now in his tiny dog bed, belly up and snoring louder than something so small should be able to. The third time she mentions how difficult my situation must be due to my son’s autism, I correct her firmly. “He is not a trigger.” My love for him and his for me is unconditional. WE accept each other exactly as we are. No one else does that. Maybe that is why the bond between mother and son or father and daughter seem to be so strong. I explained and she accepted.

After adding another diagnostic issue to my chart she asks cautiously if I would be wiling to see a trauma therapist. (Meanwhile I can still see my regular therapist.) Now of course how far I’ve come seems minuscule at this point. She says something along the lines of, “I know to you, you may not think what you have experienced is trauma but it doesn’t have to be physical to be considered trauma. You show classic sign of PTSD from the trauma you have experienced (specifically these 2 instances, including the sudden seemingly random onset of your disorder almost 18-19 years ago) and you have been in survival mode ever since.” My eyes filled quickly and suddenly. So much truth is, hard. I answer her questions, telling her things I would never tell another soul (but I want to feel better, so I do.) Telling her things I have told other’s but had received no reprieve or true help besides empty words, disinterest, judgment, etc. Blah, blah, blah.

We make a plan of action, the best we can with the hand we are dealt. BamBam wakes and comes over to me to say his goodbyes. I leave physically exhausted, mentally drained. Today was a hard day.

I left to pick my son up from school and we went home. Continued with all the things I am supposed to do, have to do to survive. Did all the things I can muster the strength to do with a smile; so my son is happy, healthy and feels loved for being exactly who he is, every single part of him that makes him who he is and allowing him to exist the way he needs ands wants to. My turn isn’t a real thing. It’s a wish list my doctor has on my chart and on this list there are other things she wants for me that I won’t allow myself to dwell on, to want (when I can help it), knowing there is always a barter to be made for a fraction of what I may want and sometimes a punishment of sorts for thinking about myself. Fighting for things I should have a right to, well I do not have the energy, will power or time for such silly things.

Tomorrow I will feel a little better, until I don’t again. Back and forth. My mental illness is a neurological (and genetic) condition I did nothing to aquire and no longer can tell if I deserve. But don’t worry, in a few days I’ll gather myself and be back to the approved version I have been shown, I am allowed to be.

Today was a hard day.

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“I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy because they know what it’s like to feel absolutely worthless and they don’t want anyone else to feel like that.”

― Robin Williams

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This is what depression looks like

This is what depression looks like:

© Andrea DiGiglio
© Drea DiGiglio
This is what depression feels like (to me anyway.)
It’s more than the really bad days of not being able to get out of bed. The idea of getting out of bed is exhausting. Not showering for days on end and not giving a rat’s ass about it. Not eating for days or perhaps the opposite and shoveling food mindlessly and probably guilt tripping yourself for it every step of the way. Its not just the days where you cannot muster the strength to get out of bed. It’s the days where you feel like that but you do get out of bed, too.
If you have kids, you still have to get them ready for school and take them to their appointments. Sure, maybe your in sweats instead of actual clothes but who cares. You clearly don’t. If you work, you work. You don’t socialize, you don’t count the minutes. You just work and you’re not entirely sure if you’re grateful it’s over because you hate working but now what the fuck are you going do with your time? Every activity takes effort. Every activity. The world looks as if it is tinted in a lower temperature color. Food doesn’t taste as good. You drink, whether it’s to be numb or shut the noise in your head up or just to feel, settled. Or perhaps some other alternative to cope.
Your body and you argue. You’re sore for no reason or just tired all of the time. Or both.
At first you say how you feel. Then you feel like a burden. Maybe you are. Maybe you aren’t. You take care of everyone except yourself because all you are trying to do at this point is survive. This is usually the point when people bring up the things you do (or don’t do) because you’re depressed, because you seem to always be depressed and yes you’re already aware of them. When people bring them up a feeling erupts, a cross between; feeling guilty and angry. Guilty for your behavior or lack there of and that they noticed and want you to know they noticed. Anger because you now feel as if your feelings are no longer valid and only their feelings are and why not just do it instead of making me feel bad about it because obviously on this day I am struggling?
People who love you try to understand and maybe they really do. But let’s be honest it’s annoying when a family member isn’t contributing or is grumpy, sad or angry all of the time.
So you stop saying how you feel. It’s too hard to continuously repeat yourself and it’s not going away, it just keeps coming back. So you smile. You laugh. You try to, fake it till you make it.
Then people like us see these smiling photos stream across social media. Smiling, happy. All the while suffering. Enduring. Fighting. They don’t know they aren’t alone.

So, apparently. This is what depression looks like. We put makeup on so we can feel normal, look normal and maybe to fake it. Maybe it’s so the people in our lives will stop asking if we are okay because no, we are not okay. Maybe we don’t wan’t the shame and guilt of feeling how we feel. Maybe we are just too damn depressed to have another conversation about it. Today I am not okay and that is okay. Just maybe, tomorrow I will be and that smile might be real. If it’s not? I suppose you might not really be able to tell because we live in a world where those who carry the burden of a mental illness feel like a burden. It’s not just the words people say it’s their actions time and time again. Actions which do not say, “I understand you are suffering.” Rather say, “When will this end this time so the ‘real you’ will be back” (For them.) The longer someones struggle is with their disorder, the longer they suffer. The less patient I find people to be. It’s a sad world I find us to be in. Where those who always have the kindest of hearts are often the most broken.

Much love to you all, be kind to one another. Keep fighting through the darkness and know you are worth fighting for, your life is worth fighting for. The good days are worth it. Don’t give up.

XO
-Andrea

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Surviving with a Bipolar disorder diagnosis

Surviving with a Bipolar disorder diagnosis
I am not my illness. No matter how many disorders they slap on my chart, they do not define me. They do not own me. I can only take care of myself the best I can and hope for a little compassion on days it’s hard to get out of bed. Having been diagnosed with Bipolar Type I disorder; rapid cycling, was horrifying initially, but also a huge relief. All of the hardships I had endured over the years at times where there was little wrong in my life finally had a reason, an answer to the question, what is wrong with me?
Simply, it is a chemical imbalance in the brain that greatly affects mood and behavior. With extreme highs (mania) and extreme lows (depression.) It took three different doctors over the span of seventeen years to diagnose me correctly.
         Depression with or without the bipolar component is no laughing matter. It drags you down by your ankles and holds you under water. You may feel as if you’re drowning but it won’t seem to end and you want it to desperately.
I will tell you from experience, “Why can’t you just be happy?” Is the cruelest sentence one human being can say to someone who suffers from depression. We do suffer. To me, it has its own identity living inside of me. I call it, the Darkness. Similar to Dexter’s Dark Passenger, I suppose. (Except for the entire murder part of course.) I don’t know if labeling it is healthy for everyone or not but it gave me some power over it.
Every human being is unique therefor no treatment is one size fits all. Don’t give up hope.  I suffered without treatment for fourteen years. It took three years of treatment and a lot of trial and error to find what worked for me.  Finding a psychiatrist I could feel comfortable with and trust was the biggest step in my recovery. Though I should use the term maintenance as all people who suffer from bipolar disorder will in fact relapse. (This is not failure. Pick yourself back up and keep trying to feel better, to be better.) With proper treatment, often through medications (commonly a combination of mood stabilizers, anti-depressants, anti-psychotics and “talk” therapy,) these relapses can be less often and less intense in nature. There are many treatments out there. The key is working with your doctor to find what works for you, as not all will. I personally work with an Integrative Holistic Psychiatrist, (combination of alternative and conventional care.) For me this was the only thing that worked. Stay strong.

Remember, you are not alone. I am not alone. Say it with me.