Suffering from a breakdown or being diagnosed with a mental illness is down-at-the-bottom-of-the-well tough. Depressive feelings can feel as if they steal the essence of you. At least that's how I've felt during my depressive episodes, that all my potential, all of my intelligence counted for nothing because I was never well enough for long enough to harness them.
I've raged at myself, at my 'black dog', at the World for stealing my life from me, for making it impossible to function. But it hasn't gotten me anywhere. I can't change what has happened in my past. I can't change that I have suffered, and continue to suffer, with mental illness. So instead, I'm trying to come to terms with it, and in the process, accept it.
I haven't always had a name for my uninhibited highs or the crushing lows, indeed, I didn't have one until I was 25. Even then it wasn't quite right, but I accepted it without a second thought because a psychiatrist knew better than me, right? Wrong. It took another five years of ups and downs, being unmedicated because I was told that medication didn't really help people with BDP anyway. Accepting that meant another five years of my life were spent on an emotional roller coaster. Until, that is, I came screeching off the rails at a hundred miles an hour, crashing headfirst into a pit of darkness and despair. Again.
Being diagnosed with Bipolar affective disorder was great initially. I knew something more was going on, and I felt vindicated by both the diagnosis, and the psychiatrist who spent three hours thoroughly assessing me and talking to me like a human being, and not just another sick person.
But in my mixed state, both at the present time and in years past, I've had moments of denial; there's nothing wrong with ME, they're labelling me, they don't know me, I just need need to pull myself together, I'm NOT mentally ill. And the danger for me in those feelings is that, as has happened previously, I fall off the grid, go AWOL from psych appointments, CMHT meetings, therapy, I go hypomanic.
I'm realising now that acceptance of my condition does not constitute weakness, that in fact its something that might help stabilise me and help me recognise when I'm about to leap off the emotional cliff, that my feelings of despair, anger, denial are a part of my illness, not flaws in my character. It's going to be a long journey, I think, in fully accepting those things, and in completely accepting my condition, but its one I'm willing to take.
But, I also need to work on believing that accepting my diagnosis doesn't mean I'm labelled for life, that things have to always be shit because I'm bipolar. I don't have to always be on benefits, I don't always have to be skint, I don't always have to feel utterly unfulfilled and screwed up. That when I'm stable again, I can take responsibility for myself and have faith in my decisions, plans and dreams.
What does acceptance mean to you?
I've raged at myself, at my 'black dog', at the World for stealing my life from me, for making it impossible to function. But it hasn't gotten me anywhere. I can't change what has happened in my past. I can't change that I have suffered, and continue to suffer, with mental illness. So instead, I'm trying to come to terms with it, and in the process, accept it.
I haven't always had a name for my uninhibited highs or the crushing lows, indeed, I didn't have one until I was 25. Even then it wasn't quite right, but I accepted it without a second thought because a psychiatrist knew better than me, right? Wrong. It took another five years of ups and downs, being unmedicated because I was told that medication didn't really help people with BDP anyway. Accepting that meant another five years of my life were spent on an emotional roller coaster. Until, that is, I came screeching off the rails at a hundred miles an hour, crashing headfirst into a pit of darkness and despair. Again.
Being diagnosed with Bipolar affective disorder was great initially. I knew something more was going on, and I felt vindicated by both the diagnosis, and the psychiatrist who spent three hours thoroughly assessing me and talking to me like a human being, and not just another sick person.
But in my mixed state, both at the present time and in years past, I've had moments of denial; there's nothing wrong with ME, they're labelling me, they don't know me, I just need need to pull myself together, I'm NOT mentally ill. And the danger for me in those feelings is that, as has happened previously, I fall off the grid, go AWOL from psych appointments, CMHT meetings, therapy, I go hypomanic.
I'm realising now that acceptance of my condition does not constitute weakness, that in fact its something that might help stabilise me and help me recognise when I'm about to leap off the emotional cliff, that my feelings of despair, anger, denial are a part of my illness, not flaws in my character. It's going to be a long journey, I think, in fully accepting those things, and in completely accepting my condition, but its one I'm willing to take.
But, I also need to work on believing that accepting my diagnosis doesn't mean I'm labelled for life, that things have to always be shit because I'm bipolar. I don't have to always be on benefits, I don't always have to be skint, I don't always have to feel utterly unfulfilled and screwed up. That when I'm stable again, I can take responsibility for myself and have faith in my decisions, plans and dreams.
What does acceptance mean to you?
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