I’ve reached a point of intolerance with skirting issues that pertain to mental health, my black stage. I suspect this is due in large part to my own parachute into the dark depths that is eminent for this time of year in my journey. But the vehemence of my frustration is due in large part to society’s inability to take responsibility for its role in perpetuating mental illness, as well as it’s lack of effective treatment for those actively searching for ways to cope.
I’m done excusing anyone and everyone on the topic of mental illness and the ignorance that has somehow become the antithesis for pro activity and efficacious propositions. I must say, above all, if you will not reckon with the mental illness in your life you have no chance of surviving it. No chance. I’m sorry. There it is. I am a 30 year survivor of mental illness. I am an authority on bipolar disorder both personally and professionally, and I’m telling any and all with this illness…there is no way to have any quality of life unless you reckon with the fact that you have it.
Man, we don’t need one more event, one more celebrity, one more death to bring attention to something of which we are all aware. We need honest dialogue. We need to step out of fear and into the reality that life is messy and wildly beautiful, but for some of us, there is literally a struggle every day to find a reason to keep living it. Prevention of suicide starts with honesty and dialogue, and it’s often beyond the family. It takes ownership and the reinforcement that life matters! All the stats and 5k walks in the world will never come close to the impact of honest confession and dialogue.
I know, because this is my life. I live a kind of half life, teetering between hope of life abundant and absolute need to no longer experience the pain involved with drawing breath. Real enough for ya? This is the life of mental illness. Welcome to those just joining the battle, but for those of us who have been a lifetime of trying to fight a monster with sharpened toothpicks…
You are late, and did you bring any weapons to the battle?
Because the truth is, I struggle constantly. I am on a tight rope balancing every single thing in my life on top of my head as I attempt to navigate a life that once was a nice wide road but has been relegated to a thin wire I must traverse. My immediate experience is a slippery slide where I am groping, grasping for something to hang on to that will retard my descent. It is as though my footing gave way while I was sleeping, and I have only just now awakened to find myself in full movement. I am scrambling madly to gain anything that will help me recall myself back to center; back to balance.
Everywhere I look I see dusk settling, and I can find very little about myself or my life that seems worth hanging on for. I have been experiencing this place I am currently in for nearly 30 years now, and yet every season it is as if I am going over the edge for the first time. All stop gaps are…well…stopped.
I mentioned in a previous blog that I have lost heart, and so I am at a loss. I find I cannot care enough about things to expend the energy to make them so; to fix or eliminate. I am scrambling desperately for meaning so that it will kick start the desire to desire again.
The danger with this place is that there is an extensive need to fill the void with something, anything. I find myself struggling to erase or, at best, scratch out my ongoing irascibility. It is as though everything, every origin of feeling and thought has become a tangled mass, and I can never seem to find the ends to begin untangling.
As such, though I have been working to keep up healthy habits, I am now majorly struggling with unhealthy ones I have conquered before of have managed to at least keep on a leash in the back yard. Now, however, it’s a full on assault, and really all I want to do is to eat.
There. I said it. I just want to eat, because it’s legal. Because I get a small chemical adjustment with sugar that helps assuage all the symptoms that accompany the mixed state that is so very problematic . When the healthy fails, I will reach for relief in that which is not so healthy.
So there is more added to the initial struggle. I find there is a mountain of dysfunction added to the the mountain I’m already carrying across that wire. THIS is life with mental illness. THIS is what it is like to live with suicidal ideation as a person with mental illness.
At present I’m on my knees; on my face, really, before God. There is nothing man has that will help me through the living nightmare that I never get away from. I pray for relief always. Sometimes I pray for death. Sometimes I pray for life. Sometimes I pray for peace. Sometimes it’s beauty, because everything is ugly to me. Sometimes it’s understanding. Mostly though I pray for comfort.
I’m so alone. This is the loneliest place on earth, living with mental illness, and I confess my anger at those who enter onto the scene so late due to a personal brush with it and now, suddenly, they are experts; know everything. The arrogance! There are no answers here. There is survival and a small flower of hope.
That is what I always leave with after my time on my face before Yeshua (My Rescuer). I always leave with hope. I know that being alone on the black stage of my life with only a spotlight is the best place for me, because He is the spotlight. If I have to live like this, I’m going to live it with him. If not with him…
I’m just on a black stage.