So How's My Mental Health Now?
After back-to-back
psych unit stays, involuntary commitments, in which I was basically coerced
into taking meds so I could eventually leave, am I a mental mess?
No.
But I’ve
learned and acquired valuable information about how to proceed, with who I am
now, after 40 years of psychotropics, some ECT, psych hospitalization after
psych hospitalization.
First and
foremost, I accept my limitations.
I need
certain kinds of help. I have assistance financially that allows me to live in
a nice apartment, keep a cat, eat decent food, be safe, and stay mostly to
myself. And I need that isolation because being out in the world is frankly
overwhelming, spins my brain, and drains my energy.
But I still
require contact with people, and I have that with social media, a comfortable way
for me to find others anytime, no matter what’s going on with my
sleep.
What about
sleep? Nowadays I doze off, on my own, without any kind of drugging, and I'm out for quite a few hours. That’s a vast improvement over the horrid
nightmare of coming off meds, the terror of even facing my bedroom,
or the days unable to drift off, flowing into a blur of unstoppable activity
with a mind that ran in and out of rabbit holes of ideas.
Eating well also took the past two years, lots of tries, lots of reverting to foods without much benefit to my states of up and down and all around. Now I honestly crave the better choices.
Losing my
cat Iris, a steady companion who kept love in her heart always, steered the home
routine, and provided purpose, devastated me. That factored largely into why I
fell off the cliff, landing in psych wards again.
My strange
thought was that I’d be in a safe place to express my feelings, and once I had
those satisfactorily out, I’d be back home, living a more tranquil life. I
forgot that in mental health care, I’m already labeled bipolar and borderline
personality disorder, so no psychiatrist is about to let me get away without thrusting medication on me. And if I refuse, they say they’re bound to throw a court
order on my freedom.
Once I stop clawing at the walls of the pit, I discover footholds, climb to the top, and find a steady path forward.
That lets me
know that I must accept myself where I am, on any given day, at any given
point. Dropping the invasive “I should be doing this” or “This bad feeling will
last forever” or “My life is a waste” mantras is key. Instead, I assure myself
that everything is fine right now, at this moment. Then I ask myself what
absolutely must be done today. Getting that task, or tasks, completed is the only pressure
I put on myself, but I apply it gently.
Being kinder
about who I am opens opportunities to relax into what I’m doing. Smiling and
laughter, focusing on cooking and tasting food, watching a show without
distracting into other activities, appreciating my new cat, listening fully to
family discuss their own problems, and
enjoying all my little victories happens more spontaneously. And I’m here to
witness that, all in all, I really am okay.
I’ve made it this far. There’s more to go.
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