Never All Better; Only Hope and Learning to Cope as With Any Disease

     For the nearly 35 years I have been battling this disease of mental illness, I have heard many people, including family and friends, use the term “snap out of it”, or, “I thought you were ‘all better’ now?”. Early on, I would not know what to say. Now days, I stand up for myself and tell them; “I can only try to control it…there IS no cure, yet." 

     My battle came to a head in 2010, when after losing a job, and going through trouble at home, I spiraled even further down and lost hope. Hope is the one thing that can keep someone trying, no matter what. But once its gone, or seemingly gone; that’s it. I found myself deciding that enough was enough, and planned to commit suicide. 

     I didn’t have the guts to do it myself, but clearly, unmistakably, KNEW I wanted to be dead. So, much like the person who cannot stand to receive a "needle”, or, “shot” at the doctor, but knows they MUST get one, I decided to commit suicide by cop. The rationale, much like the vaccination, being; I would turn my head (so to speak), and then what I wanted would be done for me. I wouldn’t need to worry about having the guts, nor going through with it, once the process began. 

     The details and too graphic and not necessary for this particular story, just suffice to say, that in the process, I ended up not only almost getting my wish, but I hurt my wife physically in the process because I was extremely intoxicated. Since I had planned it for some time, I drank and took way too much medication, because I knew that I was going to be taking a bullet that night, and I was not going to do it sober. This led to me being not only uncaring, as I knew I would be dead in a matter of minutes, but extremely violent, and to be honest, why would I care; I was going to die soon. All my anger came pouring out. 

     In the midst of the incident, I had a moment of clarity, where everything seemed to stop for an instant, and I thought of the people I would be, and already did hurt, by going through with it, and I surrendered to police. 

     Unfortunately for me, I was charged with menacing and possession of a firearm. Even with doctors testimony to my years of mental illness, I was sentence in accordance with the “mandatory sentence” of 3 years in prison, of which I served two and a half. I had never been to jail in my entire life and it changed me

     It was during that time that I made a conscious effort to not just sit in my cell watching TV or eating, but to take an honest look at my illness and what I could do to change how it controlled my life. That was when I began to do the hardest thing there is and that is learn that it CAN be controlled if you learn the right tools and coping skills and never deviate from what works for you. 

     I was always of the school of thought that medication was NOT right for me and fought being on it to the point of never staying on a regiment long enough for it to work. Side effects were horrible, even after years and years of trying different drugs. Since then, I have changed how I look at that aspect and I have luckily found the right combination to help my illness best as it can. 

     But medication alone can’t control it for long. Just as with say, diabetes, medicine has to used with other tools to control the disease. 

     Keeping a routine, exercise, eating right, plenty of water, etc., are some of the physical aspects of coping. The other important thing is your support system. 

     Going to your therapy appointments to talk to a professional is so important. Its not about them FIXING you, as much as it’s about you talking and admitting the things that keep bothering you about your illness that counts. 

     Environment, and home are important as well. Support systems don’t stop with the professionals. They include friends and family, and it your friends and family do not help you, or, as in my case, prevent or sidetrack your recovery; AVOID THEM WHEN POSSIBLE and find people you can talk to that understand. Keep at it, and don’t stop trying to look for these people. One of the saddest and yet most important things is when your own family seems to not understand. They will say things like, “just take your medicine, and stop thinking that way”. 

     Well, there is no “stopping” it. Not completely. Only controlling it the best you can. You have to stand up for yourself and not allow peoples ignorance to stand in the way of your recovery. Would these same people tell a diabetic to just take their meds and snap out of it? No, because that would not work, and it won’t with mental illness either. 

     The road to being “better” is never ending. You have to learn what works for you and DO IT! Not for anyone but yourself. If you are in a bad place, LEAVE it. If you have bad people in your life, DUMP THEM. Whats more important; your circle of friends, or your life?

     Stigma unfortunately, I believe, will never completely go away, no matter what is done. There can only be ones own resolve to control their illness the best way they find, and stick with it. 

     It has to be our primary focus. Getting better is not just a “sometime” thing. If it becomes anything less than one of the most important aspects of our daily life, you will not control it well enough to stay “better” for very long. 

     Talk, shout, scream. But never put your recovery aside for ANYONE or ANYTHING. And never EVER lose hope. If you do, you need to drop everything and find someone to tell, and get help fast. 

     Its never ALL better. But it CAN be controlled if you do the things that you HAVE to do, to have better days, and deal with mental illness, more effectively. Your life may well depend on you finding how to do this so don’t wait until you find hope is gone. Start now. 

A Little More Time (My Story)

My name is Joseph Fusaro.  I am 32 years old.  I was first diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and ADHD when I was a senior in high school, although I am pretty sure I had been suffering undiagnosed since I was around 6 or 7 years old.  I had a problem with attention and retaining information in school.  Looking back I think I did not care much about schoolwork because it did not help with my emotional stress.  I have also suffered with insomnia since I was in grade school and as any health professional with attest sleep may be the most important factor in any health issue.  Somehow I was always able to pull off A’s and B’s in school and thought things would just work themselves out and get better in college.  This was not the case at all.  I started college in September 2001 and things got off to a bad start.  I was already having a tough time adjusting to college when September 11^th happened.  The days just got real heavy real fast.  I was going home on the weekends to see a Psychiatrist and he had me on a couple different controlled substances that seemed to work at first but then I started getting dependent on them.  I got into the routine of taking uppers in the morning and downers at night which really only works if you can keep the dosages to a minimum, and I could not.  It was never really that I wanted to get high, it was just that after a few weeks they wouldn’t work the same as they originally did.  One year of college was too much for me and I decided to leave. 

Over the next several years I began to notice a trend.  I would work somewhere for a year or 2 then I would get bored decide to try college again.  Then I would take the little money I had saved, take out loans and attempt college again.   I do not want to blame any of my decisions on bipolar or mania.  I loved every job I had and every school I went to, but I would quickly lose focus once that new and fun feeling went away.  I could not fulfill myself.  The beautiful landscapes and amazing people I met were never enough.  I was always looking for happiness in the form of medication.  I kept trying to fix my emotional and psychological problems by making physical changes in my life.  I have learned that doing this is like building a house without a foundation.  All is well until the first flood.

I got sick of going back and forth between jobs and college.  Neither of them were filling the void for love and understanding I had developed.  I started taking more and more of my prescription medicines.  It was mostly Amphetamines and Benzodiazepines.  I was not getting any sleep.  I was losing family and friends fast.  I lost relationships.  I lost my job.  I lost my car. I lost my home.  Worst of all; I lost hope, faith, and the will to live.  I temporarily moved back home with my family in the spring of 2008 and they called the local police and had me hospitalized.  I remember waking up a couple days into my hospitalization and no one was by my side, except a personal guard whose job was to watch me.  Apparently I went on a psychotic rant when I was admitted.  This scared me to death.  I didn’t have anyone to call.  I had used up all of my relationships.  Everyone I had known wanted me to get help, but didn’t want to be there for me throughout it.  I shouldn’t say that; my mother and father were there.  Although, I could tell that was the 30 minutes every couple of days that they were dreading would come. At this time the Doctors at the hospital took me off all of the controlled substances and started me on anti-psychotics.  My body and brain were in shock.  I spent the next couple of months hallucinating and reliving my childhood in horrible ways that it did not really occur.  My muscles were tight and in spasm.  I would laugh for hours, cry for hours, or just stare at a wall in disbelief for hours.  I overdosed on pills a couple times but always woke up.   I would sweat when I was cold and shake when I was hot. 

Finally at the end of the summer of 2008 I could not take it anymore.  I did not understand how when they took me off of my old medicines and put me on anti-psychotics I had gotten more psychotic and more suicidal.  It did not make any sense.   I decided I was going to run away.  I know it sounds crazy to say I was going to run away and I was 25 years old, but when my family, friends, doctors, and the local police all know that you are supposed to be detoxing at your mothers’ house it feels like running away.  I went to Venice Beach Los Angeles and quickly got a prescription for Adderall, Xanax, and marijuana.  I figured if I had to take meds I may as well take the ones that made me feel better.  Even if better meant moments of extreme mania and depression, at least I would not be in severe physical pain from withdrawal and the side effects of the anti-psychotics.

There was a common misconception by people that I moved to LA to write, record music, act, or do any of the preconceived Los Angeles notions but the truth is that Los Angeles was the furthest place on the map from New York so I chose it.  Yes I did write while I was there but I have been writing since I was 14 years old.  I spent most of my days and nights (about 14 hours a day) working at a Hostel to barely make enough money to pay back my boss with my paycheck for the 12 foot by 12 foot room he rented me that I shared with 2 or 3 other people.  I spent most of my time cleaning bathrooms and shaking bedbugs out of mattresses.  After a year of this I could not take it anymore.  Once again the lack of sleep caught up with me.  I had to give up.  I had to give up again.  I lived on the street for a couple weeks.  I would just walk day and night.  I felt that if I stopped police would either bring me to a shelter or a mental hospital and I was scared to death to go to either.  I finally ran out of steam.  My feet were 2 big blisters that anchored me to the earth.  I thought my head would explode from the pain with each step I took. I had been eating off the dollar menu from fast food restaurants and I was now tapped out searching my backpack for change. I had thrown my cell phone into the ocean months earlier and there was only 1 phone number that I could remember.  It was home.

In 2010 I decided to go back to New York.  I was tired.  I was physically and mentally beat up.  I had nothing.  This is what people must have meant when they say “rock bottom.”  There was no way anything bad could happen to me because I even enjoyed bad news because at least I would feel for a short moment.  Sometimes people with depression think that that is the worst feeling.  I thought that too until I couldn’t feel anything at all.  I was numb.  I have never felt worse than numb.  I am not going to say it was smooth sailing after this.  I was hospitalized at least another 5 times that I can remember.  I went through many doctors and several medication combinations.  For some strange reason or by the grace of some force that is stronger than me I found a great Doctor in 2013.  He was the first Doctor that I could tell had faith in me.  He encouraged me to tell my family and friends how I truly feel and to try and repair my relationships.  He taught me breathing exercises and self-compassion.  He taught me about eating healthy and getting sufficient rest.  He not only prescribed me medication but he made me believe in me, which is something I wish a Doctor would have taught that 6 year old kid with depression. 

As of 2014 I can feel the change of seasons again.  Holidays feel like special days again.  I have friends and family I can call if I am having a bad, or even a good day.  Now that I am focused on the right things I am finding that I attract more of the right things, the right people, the right lessons.  I can honestly say for the first time since I was a kid that I am happy.  Every once in a while I still feel a little behind the game when all of my friends are getting married and having children, but I know that I have been so patient for so long that if I keep the right attitude good things will happen.  I now know that I cannot search tirelessly for patience, peace, or love to add to my life until I already have it. I just take a deep breath, smile, and think, yes I am happy, but I am not done yet.  I may have lost everything but I did gain one thing.  I have a constant desire to spread a positive message that there is hope for those with mental illness.  There is no reason to feel ashamed and you are not alone.  This is all I have and I am making it my responsibility to shine a light on mental health.

My Story of Madness and Medical Magnets

When I went public with my mental illness it didn’t feel much like a choice. After decades of suffering, suddenly colliding symptomology threatened to take my life. If this living thing was to mean anything, I had to offer everything I had: which was my story. Recovery, such as it has been, became it’s own story, complete with an experimental magnet-based depression-busting device. And that eventually became my book, “After Depression: What an experimental medical treatment taught me about mental illness and recovery.” … Maybe it will encourage others.

Submitted by - Greg Harman (gregharman@gmail.com)

Knowing When to Get Help

It was an avalanche of trauma. My mom died, my husband lost his job, I quit my job, I had emergency surgery while on vacation in another state, we lost our health insurance, and we had major conflict with our closest friends which resulted in a huge loss of community.     These losses leveled me. I felt completely alone, unsure of our family’s financial state, and uncertain of our future. I was physically and emotionally exhausted; I had no energy, no hope.    I started sleeping during the day to escape the pain and fear. A friend called me during this time and told me that it was sunny and I should get out. I hadn’t even realized it was daytime. She asked if my daughter, who was 7 at the time, was being cared for. I told my friend I heard her rummaging around in the cupboards and the fridge, so I think she’s okay.    I was struggling with wanting to self-harm, and with thoughts of suicide, entertaining the fantasy brought comfort somehow, a possible way out. I was starting to scare myself. I found a website online, facingus.org, which encouraged you to create a care plan for those times when you may not be able to make decisions for yourself anymore, when you need someone to step in for your own good, your own safety. So I made a care plan and told my husband about it, so he would know who to call and what signals to look for. That was when I admitted things were getting critical and I needed more help than I was getting.    I made weekly appointments with my counselor and committed to seeing a psychiatrist once a month to manage my medication. Falling asleep at night had become increasingly difficult and frightening and it made my depression worse. I asked for something to help me sleep so I could at least regain the energy I needed to fight back. My counselor was intuitive and wise; she saw the symptoms of PTSD before I did. The losses had triggered flashbacks, anxieties, irrational fears, hyper vigilance, and insomnia. Her observation helped me understand why my depression had become so unmanageable and dangerous, and it offered me tangible means of engaging my symptoms with more confidence and hope.   One of the most helpful processes was identifying my need for self-care and finding creative, guilt-free ways to take care of myself when I needed it. My counselor helped me believe that I was worth caring for and that encouragement gave me the foundation I needed to begin serious recovery.    I have been taking advantage of these opportunities and advantages for over four years and I can say that my depression has diminished significantly and I am currently learning to value myself, address my PTSD triggers, and develop a self-care regimen. If there is even a slight suspicion that you may be experiencing depression or anxiety, I urge you to find someone to talk to and consider seeing a regularly and explore the possibility of medication.

Submitted by - Tammy Perlmutter (tammygrrrl@gmail.com)

PMDD won't get me!

I’m 39 and I’ve had Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder since I was 13. Most of that time struggling to live a life without any answers, wondering what’s wrong with me, battling depression, suicidal thoughts, and one suicide attempt. My struggle with PMDD cost me many friendships, romantic relationships, family members, and almost my life. Seeking knowledge in 2012, I came across a blog that described pmdd and it was at that moment I realized what was going on. I sought treatment which took on a whole new set of struggles, but I’ve found solid ground. Finally. After 26 years of emotional highs and lows. I’m now an advocate for women’s health and PMDD. I’ve earned my Master’s Degree, have a thriving career and I am the Board Chair for a the National Association for Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder. I’m sharing my story as a story of hope and resilience. There is help, there is hope, and it is possible to live a full, thriving, successful life with mental illness. 

Submitted by - Elizabeth Santiago (Elizabeth.k.santiago@gmail.com) submitted: