Read on Twitter
I've seen a lot of anti-therapist/getting help stuff going around bc of some people's experiences with it. So buckle up kids because i'm going to talk about my mental health for a moment.
Last year I was diagnosed with Bipolar. Before then, I had been in denial about anything-
Last year I was diagnosed with Bipolar. Before then, I had been in denial about anything-
being wrong enough to warrant help. In fact, so shocked was I by the diagnoses, that I can't recall the words coming out of my psychiatrist's mouth- I blacked it out. Tony had to tell me later that I was, in fact, diagnosed before she started assigning meds to try and help me. I-
have spent my whole life believing that if I was just strong enough, just smart enough, just enough of a hard-worker...the list goes on...that I would be fine. That there wasn't anything I couldn't handle on my own. So you can imagine that with my bipolar symptoms, I just-
thought I needed to cope better/do better/BE better. I spent three weeks sleeping in our walk-in closet. This was a really rough part of my experience so you'll excuse me if I don't go into super detail, but rest assured, I was... a trial to live with, to say the least. Those-
around me grew more and more concerned as my lows sank me lower and lower, each swing of the pendulum that is bipolar bringing me closer and closer to the edge. But the hardest part about all of this is that I thought I was fine. Let me say that again- despite overwhelming-
evidence to the contrary, I THOUGHT I WAS FINE. I thought I was handling things just fine, thought I was managing just fine, thought that I was *fine*.
Then one night, after those weeks I spent in the closet, me and Tony had a serious conversation about the state of my mental-
Then one night, after those weeks I spent in the closet, me and Tony had a serious conversation about the state of my mental-
health. And that's when he revealed to me that I was not fine. It breaks my heart to type these next words so bear with me, but I had been emotionally abusing him. He talked a lot about how it was like to live with me, I recall specifically the phrase "walking on eggshells"...
and that's when it hit me. I not only *wasn't* okay, I was hurting the people around me. Abusing the people around me. I don't know how long he had suffered the abuse, I don't know if I'll ever know. I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself for it. But the fact remained that-
I needed help. I had resisted before then because of past bad experiences with Psychiatrists, mental health professionals, and general bad ideology that I'd grown up with. And because I thought I was fine. "I'm doing well enough," I'd reassure myself. But I wasn't. Those around-
me were suffering in silence, trying to support me, trying to help me and hope I'd get better. And for the rest of my life, I have to live with the fact that I, at one point in our relationship, was an abuser to Tony. All because I refused to get help.
So I say all this with-
So I say all this with-
the hope that it will be a cautionary tale to someone else. If you have the means to get help, please, go get help. It's not going to be easy. In fact, it's going to one of the hardest things you ever do. You're going to have bad therapists, and shitty psychiatrists. Don't stop.-
Keep looking. Keep trying. Keep going. Because not only do YOU deserve to feel and be better, those around you do deserve better, too.
