I write because it's healing,
I write because I'm free,
I write because it's who I am,
I write for you, and me.
Fall 2004
Purpose Driven Life by Rick Warren was super popular at my family's church. We were reading together in small groups and I was having all these epiphany type moments. Every sentence seemed to have this deep, super spiritual meaning. I'm sure this is what Rick Warren was going for to a degree, but I'm not sure all of the conclusions my 17-year old self was drawing were really "spot on" as they say. Especially considering I was drawing the same type of spiritual conclusions from the movie "Runaway Bride"- were Julia Roberts and Richard Gere really that good? I'll give you a hint...no. But I still love that movie. I started struggling with sleep because I was contemplating all these deep thoughts. I was journaling like crazy into the night and thought I was making all this sense.
I am not sure what I was trying to uncover. I think in some ways I was just stressed and trying to channel my thoughts into other things, rather than thinking about classes, college choices, and senior year stuff. In some ways, I think God really was doing a work in me, but I was totally misinterpreting it. Either way, I remember getting overwhelmed with everything I had going on, so I would just give up and settle for watching "Runaway Bride" for the millionth time. One night, the credits were rolling & Richard and Julia were riding their (separate) horses into the sunset. I started having all these thoughts like- "I think they must have had a real relationship when they made this movie" or "they made this movie because there were actually together" or "this is actually a real documentary of their love."
Delusions.
When I first started having delusions, I knew these thoughts were a little off. That they were silly, and I attributed them to my always wild imagination. Of course I didn't want to share them with anyone. How embarrassing. I dismissed them. I had no idea they would leave to even more complex delusions and manic symptoms like impulsiveness. I had no idea that eventually I would not realize they were delusions at all.
Now I would identify this time and these symptoms as "red flags" of what was to come. Then, I thought I was clever and creative and that the thoughts were part of my typical melting pot of ideas that were always floating in my brain.
I loved high school. I went to a super duper small school in a small town in the middle of nowhere. But high school was fun. I loved my friends, my teachers, and my classmates.
Not that long after being named Homecoming Queen, I was admitted to a Behavior Health hospital.
Left- a blurry newspaper clipping of homecoming
Right- Senior pic & all about the blonde. Class of '05
Sane among Crazy
Who do you have in your life that you know would walk with your through anything? That would accept you when it doesn't make sense, that would shield you from the harshness of the world, that would defend you at absolutely all costs?
Hold onto those people, pour into those relationships, do whatever it takes.
Anytime someone reaches out to me to talk about a mental illness-related issue they're dealing with those are the first questions I ask. What kind of support system do you have? Who do you have in your life that is aware of your symptoms? Who can look out for your red flags?
If you don't have that, start working toward it because you will need it.
My family is amazing. This is no casual, flippant statement.
That fall of my senior year when my symptoms spun into a full blown manic episode my parents tried everything. I remember meeting with a lot of different counselors and doctors, but everything kept getting worse. Eventually my parents decided to admit me into a behavior health hospital. I vaguely remember them trying to explain to me what this meant, but I was in this weird fantasy and it just didn't translate.
I remember once in the hospital it was kind of like going to jail, I would imagine. Most of the other girls there were self-harming and/or on suicide watch so the first thing the nurses did was make sure I had no weapons or things that could be used as weapons.
I remember girls kept asking me why I was there and I kept saying, "because I need to sleep." I imagine they rolled their eyes and thought, sure, pretend you're not one of us.
There was no such thing as your own room, so that was interesting. I don't remember a lot about my roommate, because the first medication I received was some pretty strong sedatives. I think those sort of worked because I slept some. But apparently not enough because after my first day or so I started getting all sorts of medications. My memories of that week are super choppy because of all the drugs. I remember hallucinating, I remember screaming at people, I remember feeling like I was surrounded by crazy people and it was some sort of dream. I don't think I accepted that it was real, but that may have been a coping mechanism of sorts, a survival method.
I never saw a doctor when I was there. I don't remember anyone visiting me.
Later I found out that was because after a few days I was basically comatose. My parents would come and see me and I was either passed out or super mean to them. I don't remember any of it. Eventually a nurse pulled my parents aside. My mom says she was super secretive about it, that she told them she was risking her job. She told my parents there was nothing wrong with me and that I was being over-medicated with drugs for all sorts of illnesses. She said it was because we had good insurance. So that was it.
They removed me from the hospital against doctors orders and took me home. I still remember the day we left. I remember my dad carrying me out and putting me in the back of the car. I remember looking down at my legs stretched over the seats and knowing that what I was looking at was real.
Support system.
What followed after the time in the hospital was a lot of follow up appointments with all kinds of doctors and therapists and neurologists. I remember being so tired all the time. Now I know that's because once you come out of a manic episode, you're tired. The doctors we saw wrote it off as a stress-induced episode. It was hard to get an accurate read on my symptoms because of all the psych meds I had been on. There was no way to tell what symptoms were mine and what ones were caused by the meds. I'll never forget one of the doctors leaning back in his chair at the end of our meeting and saying-
There's nothing like being around a bunch of crazy people, to make you feel crazy.
Oh bless you Dr. Whomever. Thank-you for making me laugh. It had been too long.
Dr. Whomever said we should press charges. He said it was crazy I was healthy after being on so many medications and then cut off cold turkey.
We went home. My mom made me pie.
All was well for now.
Here's the thing
There's really nothing special about my experience. Everyone has problems. Everyone experiences crisis of sorts. Not everyone talks about it. That's the difference. It's easy to be bitter. It's easy to tuck things away and think no one will understand. It's hard to be vulnerable. So hard. I share this blast from the past with you because I think that no matter where you're at in your life, no matter what you have going on it is so vital you have a support system.
Who will carry you to the car and bake you pie?
Maybe you don't have parents like mine, okay. I'm sorry for you. I really am. But we're all human and we're all capable of connecting with others with some effort. Present day, I live farther away from my family. They're not my day-to-day support system. But I have friends in my life that are. Bipolar or not, you need this. I promise. It's called community.
1. Identify your people
2. Share your red flags
3. Spend time together
That's it.
And, I do recommend pie.
love, Hannah
