The "truth" about me...

This post is going to be raw, vulnerable, and completely honest.
I'm actually nervous as I'm sitting here typing...
and a little out of it as I have been up since 2am.
Anyway, mental illness is the topic du jour.

The recent suicide of a friend initially prompted me to open up.
And the surprising words in an e-mail from an old friend.
I think everyone needs someone to relate to.
So, here I am...
take me or leave me.

I have been suffering with depression since I was 16.
I have been on anti-depressants for the past 8 years.
My parents were initially in denial about what was going on in my life.
Let's face it...nobody wants to have "that" kid.
It wasn't just regular sadness or something that would pass.
They serotonin levels were actually fucked up in my brain.
Not something I could just shake off.
They put me into counseling and started meds.
I got better for awhile.

When I felt good I would always try to wean myself off of my meds.
That's definitely it a problem.
You feel good because the meds are working, not necessarily because you're better.
I hated the stigma of having to take a pill to feel "happy."
I just wanted to be "normal."
What the hell is "normal" anyway?
There isn't a standard of normalcy.
It's functional or non-functional.

For those of you who don't have a mental illness, I'll explain what it feels like.
Those commercials on TV are so ridiculous.
It feels like you're stuck in a dark, awful bubble.
No matter what you do you can't feel better.
You hate yourself & the world around you.
You just want "peace."
Sometimes it's sleeping to turn your mind off.
Sometimes it's cutting yourself to release the inner pain through an outer channel.
(Don't make emo jokes here)
Sometimes it's not being able to cry because your body can't physically produce more tears.
Sometimes it's controlling outward things because you can't control your inner emotions.

Anyway, two years ago I attempted to kill myself.
I had reached that dark hole and just wanted out.
Life was too much and I just wanted to shut it all off.
I wanted to be at peace...or to feel anything other than what I felt.
The depression and anxiety were unbearable.
I had everything going for me, but I wasn't happy in my own mind.
I decided ending it all would be best.
Luckily, they got me to the hospital before the meds shut me down.
I had to drink a charcoal milkshake to absorb all the pills I had taken.
Let's just say when it's over it's like wiping with 80 grit sand paper...
I spent 4 days in a mental health unit.
It was fucking horrible.
You're like a prisoner, but you get to wear your own clothes.
I promised myself I wouldn't every be put in "one of those places" ever again.
Then I moved out to PHX to live with my cousin who had Borderline Personality Disorder.
It's similar to bipolar with the mood fluctuations, but occurs throughout a day rather than a month or so.
He "got" me more than anyone else in the world ever had.
We had the craziest, deepest bond you can ever imagine.
Then one morning, he shot himself in our house while we were home.

Fast forward to this past summer...

Feeling the same way all over again.
Great life, but I didn't want it.
I had been in the downward spiral for a few weeks.
I kept telling myself I was going to snap out of it.
I reached the breaking point and knew I had to get help or I would be gone within hours.
I knew that I couldn't put my family & friends through the fallout after Sean.
As much as I disregarded myself, I knew the pain it felt to lose someone to suicide.
I called my brother and told him I was coming home from work and that we needed to go straight to the hospital.
He knew I wasn't joking and we went.
I spent 6 days in the unit.
This time it was a better place and I didn't "work" the system just to get out.
I knew I had to make major changes or the cycle would repeat again.
After discharge, I went to IOPMH (Intensive Out-Patient Mental Health) for 5 weeks.
I met some inspiring, supportive friends who understand the daily challenges I face.
In some way, they save me every day.

My doctors/counselors/therapists have been assisting me with finding the diagnosis to my disorder.
A little OCD, a lot of anxiety, and a ton of mood fluctuations.
It isn't just depression & anxiety anymore.
There is something we've been missing the past 8 years prior.
So, we continue to work together to figure out my best treatment.
I hope one day I can be a fully functioning individual.
I'm working toward it each and every day.

So, what was the point of all this rambling?
If there is even one person who feels less alone and that it's ok to ask for help after reading my story,
then I did exactly what I intended to do when I began typing.
I may only be 24, but I've been through a lot of shit that others my age haven't been through.
I may seem like a crazy bitch sometimes, but I'm always here to listen...
To lend an ear or a shoulder.
Just know that I get it.

XOXO,
Allie