NOSTIGMAS ALLY BLOG
Documenting the lives of the NoStigmas community through stories, creative works & advocacy related to mental illness and suicide.
Now my parents are not monsters. They love me very much. Nonetheless, they grew up in a culture where mental illness was and still continues to be a taboo. A child with suicidal thoughts was a sick child. A diseased child. A crazy child who will grow up into a crazy adult.
For me, working with clay and ceramics is the ideal distraction to keep me off the drink. It’s hard to throw a pot with a can of Fosters in my hand! I find it relaxing and it helps to reduce my anxiety – all food for helping with the symptoms of PTSD.
I received my diagnosis of bipolar II three years ago when I was 43. I don’t remember completely how my psychiatrist came to her conclusion as to what ailed me. I do, however, recall that she gave me a battery of tests that I dutifully filled out. Moments later was the “voila moment” .
“I understand how you’re feeling right now. I understand that you’re scared and unsure of what the future looks like to you. I understand that you feel lost. I understand that you feel vulnerable. But you’re still surviving. Isn’t it a miracle?”
I was taunted and bullied, had my hair pulled, my weight persistently shamed. It’s not easy growing up as a female when your appearance is a public ornament, open to ridicule or praise at all times.
