The big bad monster on the couch

I know that it is not easy to read or talk about mental illness. I understand how it makes you feel all squirmy and uncomfortable inside and anything you say seems wrong. You sometimes even become afraid of the person before they do anything at all. I know this because that was me seven years ago. But now this is me - the same me but with a new vision and comprehension. This journey has changed me in so many ways and will continue to do so for quite a while. I have found many of the flaws, or disastrous potholes, in the current mental health system and I have coped with those who work with us but have no respect for us. Yet I can also say that I have been blessed by this experience, because I can now relate to those who are struggling. I can truly mean it when I say I understand. And I can use my little voice from nowhere to shout as loudly as I can the truth about mental illness. If I can stir one blade of grass then it will have been worth the journey.

After leaving the first mental health facility, I immediately had to stop taking two of my important medications due to Medicare refusing to pay for them. I have a whole speech on the government deciding what medication you can take instead of doctors but I will leave that for another day. Anyway, the loss of these two medicines caused me to fall. So I went to the local hospital that has a mental health floor. That was a disaster I will write about all on its own, but they changed every medication that we had worked 30 days to get balanced and then sent me home. I started a partial inpatient program at a private psychiatric hospital about 45 minutes away (the provide transportation which is how I can attend) but after starting on Friday and attending on Monday I ended up back in the emergency room with severe symptoms. This time I knew to ask for help even as I was trying to reach for the pill bottles. The local hospital wanted another turn with me since I was a resident of the county and they had a bed available but I refused to go to that unit. It took a court mandate, and the declaration of the manager of the unit for me to be able to return to the original hospital. I just got out after spending 9 days there starting all new medications. I was feeling so good yesterday about coming home, until just before the van came and I realized that my social worker had not followed through on providing my medications and I had prescriptions but no money to fill them. I ended up in tears of total anger (I hate that I cry when I am mad, it just makes me madder) and even admittedly crossed the line with my language. So I am home with no new meds, trying to wing it with the ones I received from the other two programs and praying that it is a good sign that she had them filled somewhere and will find a way for me to get them. I am so happy to be home, and will be restarting the partial inpatient program on Thursday since Monday is a holiday and I have to get a ride there on the first day.
 I am so ready for this to just stabilize and to return to my normal life. My greatest fear in life has always been to lose control of my own mind, and this does that to me. It robs me of  my total control and it makes me feel weak when I know I am strong. It tells me that I am not worthy of love when I know that loving is one of the things I do best. It steals from me the joy of a good day out of fear of how long it will last even though I know that life is in this moment. I want to just go back to being me again - well, me with the new insight and changes.
This, this is mental illness broken down to black on white, to a single story, to a timeline of a life, to a solitary experience. This is me - a daughter, a friend, a sister, an aunt, a teacher (well, former), a writer, a photographer, a dreamer, a world changer, a survivor, and an individual with mental illness.