What I Am Thankful For

 While I doubt I will ever be thankful for having a mental illness, I am thankful for the strength I have found in myself when I felt so unbearably powerless to its symptoms, and for the hope of brighter days when my world is at its darkest. I view my life in two eras: before my big psychotic break, and after. The in-between feels like a vague nightmare. I remember, for the most part, what happened-the actions, the words, the emotions-but I can find no way to fully comprehend it being me that whole time. It was as if I was staring down at some other woman doing this and saying that, as if I had no connection to her or anyone else in my life at that time. I have since struggled mercilessly through the grief of what I lost as a result of that time period, as well as with anger, both at myself (how could I act like that?) and at others (why could no one help me?). I will always live with the repercussions of an illness uncontrolled, despite my present stability. I fear that it will happen again, that rueful onslaught of disillusion, and I fear hurting those dear to me all over again. Unpredictability marks the days, months, and years.

People who have never experienced mental illness can't even begin to truly understand it, and what cannot be understood is often the catalyst for mockery and judgment. If cancer attacks the body and slowly picks apart the health of a once agile person, it is viewed as a terribly unfair tragedy; what's done is done and it could not be any other way. But when it is a person's mind that is under attack, there is always a sense of blame attached to it. As a pastor's wife at the time when my illness took its greatest toil, I felt like everyone was judging me from a spiritual standpoint. I had been a devout Christian my entire life; what's more, I loved my husband and two young daughters, and I had the close-to-perfect life that everyone dreams of having. Certainly, I had wrestled with depression off and on since I was a preteen, and I had a frightening episode at age sixteen that lasted nearly three months and was often filled with hallucinations and delusions that I kept to myself. Overall, I had been good at hiding my internal wars, but in my mid-twenties I reached a breaking point, and it was a very public experience. In front of my church, my friends, and my family I quickly unraveled into a person unrecognizable to who I had been before.

After recovery began to solidify years later (thanks to extensive therapy and finding the right cocktail of medication for my particular brain chemistry) I was able to take a serious look at  the damage I caused through my irrationality and severe highs and lows. Very few know what all took place, but suffice it to say I made very foolish choices during that phase of my illness-all in the name of good intentions, mind you (sadly delusional intentions)-and there is no repair for the lines I severed.

So, while I hate mental illness and the destruction it can cause in a person's life, I am thankful that I am in the position to help others and provide encouragement to those facing the same challenges. I used to avoid telling my story to others-after all, it opens my life up to a lot of judgment and ridicule-but now I am brave enough to say, yes, I have bipolar disorder, and yes, it has cost me a great deal in life, but it has also taught me more than any other trial in my life has. I have learned that I am not defined by my illness. I'm not a crazy. I'm still the same ol' me, despite my illness, and I never intend on forgetting that. I suffer with rapid cycling emotions, intense anxiety, poor concentration, and a slew of other symptoms that occasionally reach a debilitating level. For the most part, however, I remain stable. I am so grateful for an understanding partner and remarkable children that bear with me during the hard times. They have seen me at my best and my worst, and still they love me. There is no greater blessing than the support system I have, and I am thankful every day for them.