Thank you.

I couldn't go through the day without writing this post. Today marks one year since I checked into the psych ward in Laguna Beach. I am honestly at a loss for all other words besides "Wow". This year has been full of so many ups and downs. It is absolutely unfathomable to me as I look back on it all. Just twelve months ago, I sat on a plane with tears in my eyes as I prepared to embark on a truly terrifying adventure. Everything was so up in the air and I had no idea what was going to happen during the next couple of days, let alone the next twelve months. However, after the psych ward, I finished out my semester at BYU and surprisingly did quite well (3.93 semester GPA-- I'll take it!). Nine months ago I moved in with the Bradshaw family for the summer to work. It was when I started to finally feel "normal". Seven months ago, I convinced myself to return to school despite my fear of falling backward. Three months ago I flew by myself to travel around Italy. And three weeks ago, I made it onto the Dean's list due to my 4.0 the semester before. Starting next week, I begin my first practicum experience in the classroom and I cannot wait. In just twelve short months, I have come such a long way and it is indescribably humbling.

I wanted to take this post to say thank you. I wouldn't be here writing this or thriving in school if it wasn't for the abundance of support and help I have received in my recovery this past year. Thank you to those of you who have stuck by me through this ongoing journey. Thank you for the love and support you have provided in my life. It is completely overwhelming as I look back on the number of people who have helped me through so much. There were countless people who pitched in and helped me along the way and I am truly blessed because of it. Thank you if you spent innumerable hours and nights texting with me, talking with me, or supporting me (cough cough Allison Smith). Thank you if you were one of the many people who helped to convince me it was time to check in. Thank you if you helped drive me to or from the airport (cough cough Janale). Thank you if you supported me while I was there- through phone calls, visits, or prayers. Thank you if you were actually IN the psych ward while I was there (you hold a special place in my heart). Thank you if you helped to support me as I transitioned back into normal functioning society (aside: I saw and talked to many people just after being released. If you were one of them and still loved me despite the hot mess of a person I was at that time, you are seriously a saint). Thank you if you have been a friend to me and helped remind me why I am still here. Thank you if you have sat with me and talked out my twisted thoughts. Thank you if you have been there with me as I continue to find my way. Thank you if you are taking the time to read this rambling stream of words! Thank you if you are in my life. Holy cow, just thank you.

I often think about these experiences and can't quite believe they really happened. Most days it feels like a dream, a funny story that makes me laugh. I often forget about the heartache and suffering that took place at that time. I forget about the raw fear I felt in myself and saw in others as we prepared for this experience. I forget the panic that overcame me as I realized what was going on. I forget the desperation in friends' voices as they tried to convince me that my life was important. As more and more time passes, I forget.

It has been a trying year. It has been one for the books (or the blogs. either way). It has been memorable for so many reasons. While it has definitely had some complicated moments, I wouldn't trade any of it. It's been a beautiful journey of heartache and strength. It's reminded me of the important things in life. It's reminded me that we all struggle and that is okay. It is okay to be okay and it is okay to not be okay. It is okay to ask for help. It is okay to need help.

I've learned a lot about myself in these past twelve months and I have changed dramatically. I am less insecure. I am stronger. I am more passionate. In fact, passion is something that sort of defines me (just ask my friends in the El Ed program. passion). I am all in or all out. I'm not a wishy-washy sort of person. I've learned that I am a people person and even when all I want to do is sit alone in my room while watching Netflix, I need people. I need to be out and about. I need to be doing things. I've learned that I am a stronger person than I once believed. I have the ability to impact people and touch lives. I've learned that there is more to life than just these small moments. Above all, however, I have learned that I can do hard things. I thrive when I am busy and working hard and accomplishing difficult tasks. I can do hard things. We can all do hard things.

As I reflect on this past year, I'm grateful that I had the opportunity to experience it. Every day I wake up and realize how lucky I am to be here and how many amazing experiences lie ahead of me. Life is constantly changing and moving forward. No matter how hard life gets or how defeated I may feel, this year has taught me that those moments are brief. They eventually end and we eventually move on. We re-learn how to laugh and smile and enjoy being alive. We do hard things because they make us stronger, better people.

Sorry for this rambling nonsense. Most of my other posts are not quite as "stream of conscious" as this (ehh, maybe they are. Sorry, I'm not a professional writer or anything!). But I would be remiss if I didn't take a second to express my gratitude for people, experiences, and all that life has to offer. I am so grateful to be alive, no matter the circumstance. I am grateful that I did not make a permanent mistake while stuck in the temporary delusions of my mind. I am so, so grateful for all those who are in my life. I am especially grateful for my dear friend, Allison. I wouldn't be here without her and I owe her my life. I am grateful that she took the time out of her crazy-busy life to listen to my irrational ramblings. I am grateful that she decided to take action when I lost my ability to think appropriately. I am just so grateful that she was put into my life.

***

Sometimes we need someone to sit on our bench. At different times in our lives, we serve different roles. Thank you to everyone who sat on my bench. Thank you to anyone who continues to sit on my bench. <3

The Stigma of Mental Illness

What is the first thought that comes to your mind when you hear the words "mental illness"? I'm just guessing, but you probably didn't know exactly what to think. For many, it was something along the lines of I don't know much about mental illness or maybe it was something like mental illness is the leading cause for violence in America. Maybe, just maybe, you thought of a friend or family member struggling from a mental illness. Maybe you thought of someone you lost to mental illness. I could be wrong, in which case I'll pack up my soap box right now, but most people don't truly understand what it means to be mentally ill. Part of the problem is that there are so many varying degrees of mental illness, many of which I don't have a complete understanding of either. There's depression, bipolar disorder(s), schizophrenia, Post-traumatic stress, anxiety, Seasonal Affective disorder, borderline personality, autism spectrum, eating disorders, Obsessive compulsive, schizoaffective, dissociative, tourettes, and so many more. Each of these disorders is different and not only affects a person's brain differently, but also requires differing treatment plans. One thing is for certain: nobody would willing choose to suffer from a mental illness.

***

Mental illnesses affect the functioning of everyday life. You don't sleep well, or you sleep too much. You lock the front door 15 times before leaving the house. You let out profane words uncontrollably. You don't always know who you are. You don't eat or absorb the proper nutrients. You isolate yourself. In one way or another, your mental illness negatively affects your life and your interactions with others. Nobody would want the added weight of living if they could choose.

Talked about behind closed doors and in whispered tones, people suffering from mental illness fear the reactions of friends and family. The constant worry of judgment and misunderstanding follows you through every step of every day. People believe you are crazy, lazy, or pitiful. Nobody views you in the same way, which is reflected in the way they treat you. I can tell you from personal experience that I have had some friends criticize me for my disorders (which are out of my control, by the way!). I have had friends delete me on facebook, talk about me behind my back, and send harsh messages over social media or text. While most of my friends have been relatively open and understanding, there have been some who have made me question myself enough to tell you that the stigma is still alive in this generation (which is stupid. screw them, right? right.).

Any time there is some sort of tragedy or mass shooting, people jump to the conclusion that the perpetrator suffered from a mental illness- depression, schizophrenia, bipolar, etc. I've researched the subject in depth (I wrote a paper on it, actually) and the truth of the matter is that this stereotype comes from the uninformed media. 1 in 100 people suffer from schizophrenia and 1 in 4 suffer from a mental illness. If every person who suffered from a mental illness committed a violent act, they would be occurring even more frequently. Mental illness doesn't cause violence, bad people cause violence. We are afraid of this idea, though. People search desperately to find a reason behind these senseless acts. Instead of it being random and evil, people find a reason to blame these inexcusable acts on. Look at the way mental illness is portrayed in the movies and TV shows. Jokes about psych wards and "crazy pills" are thrown into the media ever-so nonchalantly. Look at the movie psycho. The killer is "psycho" (hence the title) and struggling from mental illness. That movie gave me nightmares, as it was supposed to. In reality, that sort of violence is rare and not an accurate depiction of those struggling with mental illness. A more accurate depiction would be someone like you or me (oh wait, yes. Definitely me); someone functioning in society LIKE A NORMAL PERSON (because mental illness is not crazy or unusual).

Mental illness is neither rare nor dangerous. The danger comes from the stigma. The danger comes when people don't know how to get help or are too afraid to admit something is wrong. I know I was. 1 in 4 people. 25%. 1/4. ONE IN FOUR FREAKING PEOPLE GOSH DANG IT. It is SO common, and yet how many people do you know openly admit to this ailment? Not many. I don't know how else to say this, scream this, post this, prove this. If it doesn't mean me, it means that someone else you know and love is suffering right now whether you know it or not. Just because they haven't told you, doesn't meant they aren't struggling. It just means they are too scared to speak up. Although these types of illnesses are battled inside the brain, it does not make them any less real. They are as real as any other medical disease such as cancer, high blood pressure, or diabetes. I doubt that any of you would walk up to a woman with breast cancer and tell her to "snap out of it" or "if you pray hard enough, it will go away", which are a sampling of responses I have received over the time I've been struggling with these disorders. For some reason, people seem to think this is an appropriate response to people suffering from depression or mental illness. Trust me, nobody would choose to suffer from a mental illness just like nobody would choose to be plagued with cancer. Mental illnesses should not be taken lightly as they seriously affect people's lives. However, with the right medication and counseling, people with mental illness can be fully functioning members of society. Just because a person has a mental illness does not mean they are doomed to a life of destitution. With the right help, we can all live happy, healthy lives.

This video is a perfect summary of this whole post:

"It's woven into the fabric of our society and it stems back centuries, really, when mental illness was considered a character flaw."

"Every life is touched by mental illness"

"We have to be the generation to really normalize and get people talking about it because if we don't nothing's going to change, and we need it to change."

#stigmasucks #bethechange 

Please, it's too important to not try to change it.

***

For more information about mental health and suicide prevention here are some resources that can get you started:

http://www.nami.org/     National Alliance for Mental Illnesses
http://bringchange2mind.org/       Bring Change 2 Mind
http://twloha.com/       To Write Love on Her Arms
http://www.afsp.org/   American Foundation for Suicide Prevention

IF YOU OR SOMEONE YOU LOVE ARE STRUGGLING WITH SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, PLEASE call this hotline and start on the healing road to recovery! 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

The Psych Ward: A Preface

I've thought a lot about how to start this blog. I've probably written and rewritten this post thirty times. I wanted it to be perfect. But, that's sort of the whole problem, isn't it? We have this idea of how everything in our lives should be, how we're supposed to act, and how we're supposed to think. The only problem is that real life happens and we aren't who we think we should be. One day we look in the mirror and we no longer recognize ourselves. We're different. It isn't a bad thing, but I think we sometimes lose sight of the bigger picture. We are alive. We have so much potential. It's with this potential that we become something. When we hit our rough patches, we face them and try to survive. That potential is tested and tried. As for us? We learn, we grow, and we become. Sometimes it takes hitting rock bottom to see it, though. That's what this blog is about- how I hit rock bottom and how it became the trajectory of my "new" life.

***

I'm getting ahead of myself.  For those of you who have never met me or don't know this very personal aspect of my life, these posts might be sort of a shock to you. Three years ago, I was a senior in high school and only a select group of people knew that I was going through some pretty heavy stuff. Quite honestly, I couldn't comprehend the full extent of it. It was all piling up and the storm was just preparing to touch down. Thanks to this thing called denial, I'm pretty sure most people around me would never have guessed the baggage that I was carrying. As time progressed and I moved on to bigger and better things, my baggage came along, too. It followed me from high school to college. But it grew exponentially as time passed. I turned a problem into a catastrophe by waiting and delaying help. Denial is a funny thing- you feel good while you're in it, but then you feel even worse than before because it's had time to fester inside.

I was extremely good at faking it. I could (and still can!) throw on a perfect smile despite my insides eating me alive. I can laugh and joke and push it aside when needed, which is why I was able to get so far into my life while struggling with an undetectable disorder. Except, there were cracks showing. Outbreaks of emotions, sudden periods of quiet, and rambling hysteria were all moments of distress when I couldn't control my emotional instability. Rather than the hormonal, PMS-stricken, bitchy teenage girl many of my friends and family saw me as, I was struggling with something much more serious and terrifying. For years I struggled with completely treatable mental disorders, but was too scared (and proud!) to say anything to anyone. I was afraid that people would no longer see me as this independent, smart, fun-loving girl full of potential. I feared that the second I reached out for help, I would become less than human. I was afraid of how everyone around me would view me, rather than fearing how I would one day see myself.

I wouldn't be here writing this, though, if I hadn't made the biggest, hardest, and also the best decision of my life. When I was 20 years old, I was struggling hard core with myself, my thoughts, and what I perceived to be my reality. What most people don't know about me is that I have Major Depressive Disorder (clinical depression), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and Bulimia Nervosa. Throughout all of that, I also struggled with an addiction to pills that helped to mask the chaos taking place inside my mind. It was taking over my life. I couldn't think clearly; I couldn't see the point of living. Over the course of my first two years in college, I had multiple periods of time where the thoughts in my mind got pretty dark and scary. During the first 6 months of my freshman year, it seemed like the world was against me and I could feel my life collapsing before my eyes. However, I somehow pulled out of that first real episode and thought "Okay, well that sucked. Good thing it's all over and I can move on from this". And for a while, I did. For the next 8-10 months, my life seemed to be smooth-sailing. I worked my butt off over the summer and loved every minute of it. I was pretty nervous about returning for my sophomore year of school because I feared my depression and twisted thoughts would return. Much to my relief, the year started off wonderfully and I felt myself thriving. Fast-forward to Christmas break and things started to crumble again. By the second week of January, I was back in my apartment starting my second semester and the dark, twisty thoughts were back along with a lot of suppressed anger, resentment, and guilt. I reached out for help, but I was spiraling out of control faster than I could receive the help I needed. I had let myself unravel too far and I needed serious professional help. On February 27, 2014, I checked myself into a psychiatric facility for five days to be treated with the help I needed.

Why does it all matter? I didn't know much about mental health and mental illness before these experiences. I grew up in the same media-skewed bubble as everyone else and didn't think it could ever happen to people I knew, let alone myself. I thought that once you were "crazy", there was no coming back. We joke and laugh about psych wards and mental illnesses like they're some distant freak show. NO. It is so real. People all around us struggle with it and we have no idea. This blog matters because it could save someone's life. You could be reading this while struggling with similar things or know someone struggling with similar things. We are afraid of the unknown. I know I was afraid of all of this before learning what it really means to be mentally ill. I wish I had found a blog like this when I was in the midst of it. I wish that I'd had a better understanding of what it means to be mentally ill before going through this. I wish people understood how it makes me cringe when they talk lightly of mental illness. Cracking jokes and adding to this hate-culture doesn't cause you to become immune to it. All it does is add to the stigma and push people further and further into the darkness. Seeking help for this real disease- in whatever capacity necessary- is neither weak nor shameful. It's actually one of the bravest things a person can do (I might be slightly biased). There is a HUGE stigma surrounding mental illness and the time is now for us to change the way we view it, talk about it, and treat it. We live in a country where we like to believe that everyone is treated fairly and equally. I hate to burst that naive bubble, but it's not happening. There is a group of people hurting from a treatable disease because they are afraid to get help. WHY DO WE DO THIS TO OURSELVES?? 25% of the adult population will suffer from a mental illness at one point in their lives. Why don't we get the conversation going and help people get the help they truly need? I'll tell you why: it's because of the stigmatized culture we have created. We might not have the power to change society on our own, but we can definitely change our own personal views. While one person's views might not seem like a big difference, one by one we can make a change.

***Disclaimer: This material is real and I do not plan on censoring anything because of the nature of this topic. There will be posts that may make you feel uneasy or cringe. I'm #sorrynotsorry. Don't read it if any if this offends you. This is what happened and I am tired of pretending that I am something I am not. With that said, the names, places, and events might be altered slightly to protect others' privacy. I am comfortable with who I am and what has happened, but others may not be and it is their right to feel so.

***

For more information about mental health and suicide prevention here are some resources that can get you started:

http://www.nami.org/     National Alliance for Mental Illnesses
http://bringchange2mind.org/       Bring Change 2 Mind
http://twloha.com/       To Write Love on Her Arms
http://www.afsp.org/   American Foundation for Suicide Prevention

IF YOU OR SOMEONE YOU LOVE ARE STRUGGLING WITH SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, PLEASE call this hotline and start on the healing road to recovery! 1-800-273-TALK (8255)