Christa, Interrupted...

Hey Kids!

Let's talk about bipolar today, shall we?  Do we all know what that means?  If you are not in the know, it means... batshit crazy!  Well, at least that's what society thinks anyways.  Basically, you can go from 0-60 in 1.5 seconds.  It's the 'Too fast, Too furious' of all the mental illness.

Most people don’t like to speak openly about this, (myself included, for many years) since it has such a social stigma attached to it.  Many years I've lived without treatment, I;ve now realized, it is a real disease, that needs to be brought into the light!  Since we all know how much I love to use my voice, I should be using it for something positive! 

I use Layne Staley, not only as an example, but as a tribute.  His haunting lyrics have always resonated with me, and still do to this day.  I''ve always wished he could have come to terms with his demons, and found his place in this world.  His music has touched so many people.  His words touched me in so many ways, and he was there for me, when nobody else could be.  There are just some people in this world, that even though you don't know them, you just 'know' them and get them on a level that so many others may not.  One of the things I wish he could have known.  I miss you, Layne.  

Every Therapist that I’ve ever spoken with, whether in treatment, or even as a friend, has told me to write, every single one.  Writing is the best form of therapy; I’m really starting to see this now!  I've dabbled in it here and there, with journals that have been tossed from place to place, thrown in the trash, and lost several times over, those of which, I wish so badly that I could have to look back at now.  You’re probably asking yourself, why so publicly though?  So out there in the open for everyone to critic?  Good question.  For every one of you wondering why, there’s 15 saying in their head:  "I can totally relate to you",  "I totally feel that way",  "Maybe I’m not alone in this battle",  "Maybe I’m not so crazy after all",  "Maybe I will put this gun down",  "Maybe I won’t down this bottle of pills",  "Maybe I can face the world today, knowing that someone does love me and understands me"

A little insight into my crazy beautiful life:

I was diagnosed as a youth, not only with bipolar, but add borderline personality disorder, PTSD, ADHD to the mix, and you've got yourself a certifiable nutcase, right?   In all honesty, I don’t remember exactly what age I was, I’m going out on a limb and saying, 13?   First it started as normal teenage angst;  you know, attention starved, unloved, depressed... which is the typical story of such a broken family:  A daddy issue here, a mommy issue there, mix with broken heart, viola!  perfect conditions for a future of mental toruture!  (we’ll get more into that more into that family stuff at a later date, it’s far too soon in our journey to get THAT deep)

My first stay in the infamous 'looney bin' was when I was 13 (maybe 14), like I said before, exact ages are all things my brain has successfully blocked out over the years.   I do know it was a faux suicide attempt that landed me there, I didn't really want to die, I just wanted someone to notice me.   I knew at that moment, that something wasn’t right in my head.  I was scared out of my crazy little head.  

I woke up the first day, realizing:  "there were actual crazy people here".  "Was I one of them"? "Was this me"?  "Was this the rest of my life"?  "Was this the cross I was going to have to carry"?  I wanted to go home.  Week one went by, a few brand new medications aided down my throat, intense therapy, and a fresh new outlook on my young life, that’s exactly what happened, I was on my way 'home'.

Everything seemed to change after that, with the exception of having to go back to school, and make up a good excuse as to why I was gone for 10 days.  I was quite the important band geek, and it was the all-important marching band season, and I was a color guard, so my absence on the field was much noticed.  (Am I sounding super cool yet?)  Even my very best friends could never know where I really went.  I could NEVER tell anyone the truth.  Until now.

Soon after, my parents finally decided to make their divorce official.  I'm not sure if I should love them or loathe them for trying to keep it together as long as they did.  Mom re-married shortly thereafter, her and I moved in with the new beau and his 3 wonderfully perfect children, and brother went to live with my Grandparents.  I suppose he didn't want to live with either of my parents, but I’ve often wondered why he had that choice and I didn't.  Dad moved his new 'lady' (I use that word extremely loosely) into our childhood home, pretty much the day my Mom moved out.  I’m not sure of the whole back story there, so I’m not going to go into any slanderous stories now, this is just about the basic facts of my existence.  

Taking my medications was no longer even a thought in my head at this time in my life, even though I said I was, and I’m not even sure anyone really cared. They were all too wrapped up with their new family lives to concern themselves with me, I was old news.  I felt myself going into a tailspin, a whirlwind of emotions, and series of really bad, impulsive decisions.  (FYI:  this unfortunate series of bad decisions happened quite frequently throughout my life, but, like I said before, this is the basics, we'll get to that stuff later)

 

One night, there was this 'totally awesome' college party that my friends were going to.  So, naturally, I told my Mom that I was going to be staying at one of my girlfriend's houses, one that she trusted that I would be at.  We got all dressed up, it was easy for me to look like I was a college student as a teenager, I was always well aged.    Everyone at the party was having a college blast, until everything went silent, and all I could hear was “Christa!  Get your ass out here”!  I recognized that voice anywhere, It was my brother!  "How in the world did they track me down"?  I had no idea.  More importantly, "Why are they here"?   My brother is a big dude, benching like 9,000 pounds in high school, nobody was going to fight him.  “Dad's house is burning down, and I thought you'd like to be there” – my brother told me.  My heart sank.  (I still, to this day, have NO clue how they found us, nobody knew where we were)  

My brother drove me over there, and I arrived just in time to see the ashes of my childhood, it was all gone.  I would never have it back, and I knew it.  At that moment, I just sat there bawling.  There was nothing else I could do.  That’s when I knew it was over.

My 2nd hospital stay came pretty shortly after that, things got pretty bad for me.  Dad and his girlfriend rebuilt a beautiful new home where her children got the world, and I got nothing.  Literally, nothing, not even a bed in my father's home, while her children got nice and brand new items. Not only did I have that to mentally and emotionally deal with, but all those memories that I couldn't get back,  the pictures I could never get back.  I couldn't get back my kittie who died in the fire, and I adored.  I couldn't get back those memories, not a single one.  As my Dad and his new family were rebuilding and starting their new lives with new memories, I had lost everything.   I found a razor blade and cut my wrists in my step-sisters bedroom, and he took me to that 'crazy house' again. 

It was the same story as the last time.  Medication.  Therapy.  Home.  The same story.  My family said they’d do everything to help me.  They didn’t.  They wouldn't even come to family therapy, when my therapist stressed how important it was for my emotional well being that they do so.   I felt alone, unwanted, and unloved.

The rest of my life, up until now, has pretty much been the same story - Many bad and impusive choices, which is usually the story with said bi-polar disorder.   

That’s just a little about my story, without overwhelming you with too many stories of my (sometimes amazing) past right away (there’s way too many) and there’s plenty of time for that!

I had ups, downs, and I've been all around, mostly running away, (without a destination) from problems I never knew how to fix, or maybe never wanted to face.  I never knew what I was feeling, I never took my medications.  I never felt I needed them.  I never felt like I had a problem.  I lived in denial my entire life.  I always blamed everyone else.

These were all MY choices, and that’s usually the story with this disease.  Until YOU can come to terms with the reality of the disease, (and the reality that you can't control the stupid and bad things that others do to hurt you) and get the treatment you need, the treatment you deserve to live a happy and healthy life… you will continue on that same path.

Don’t let the stigma of being bipolar (or any other mental illness) scare you away from getting help and treatment.  Don’t let anyone bully you.  Stand up for yourself, be who you are and love yourself!  Even if you are different!  Own it!  There are some pretty awesome people out here that live with the same disease, and they are amazing, and so are you! 

Love all you crazies!!!!