My soapbox rant on mental health....

This week the beloved Robin Williams passed away.  He passed away from an apparent suicide after dealing with a lifetime of mental health and addiction issues.  Its also come out in the press that he was also in the beginning stages of Parkinson's Disease.  Before I start my rant, I would like to say that Robin Williams was love and adored by many as he touched so many of us via many roles that spoke to us on basic human levels.  He was funny, he was rash, he was touching and most of all, he was sincere.  He spoke to the many pieces that compose our human experience and for that, he will be missed by so many.

In the high tech, social media'ed world that we live in, we were bombarded with tributes, both positive and negative.  They ranged from beautiful to ruthless and made me question where we stand as a human race.  The ones that affected me the most negatively and that really enraged me were the posts that over simplified the situation and were quick to remind us that he died via suicide and that it was...."a choice".  Now, as I see the point that they were attempting to make...I get it.  I was still enraged.  Yes, that's right, I said enraged.  That is a rarity for me, especially when it comes to social media.  I am usually one to shake my head and move on, but this is a topic very near and dear to me and I feel like there needs to be a different view put out there. 

I AM THE FACE OF MENTAL ILLNESS AND ADDICTION.

That's right, this unassuming mother, wife, employee, sister, and neighbor is both an addict in recovery and dealing with the ongoing battle of bipolar depression.  For those who know me well, this isn't a shock.  For others- I just stepped out of the closet.  I have been in recovery for five years now.  It hasn't been perfect, it hasn't been easy, but its been worth it. 

I live in the depression capitol state of the US.  We have a lot of social pressure here to appear a certain way and to live a certain way.  Mental health is still a very hush-hush topic and one that is usually spoken about within the context of shame and humiliation.  When you add addiction to the conversation, it's a whole other level that is hard to explain unless you have been in it.

"Are you really an addict or did the doctors just tell you that?"
"You cant be an addict- your a mom!"
"If you tell people, your kids are going be taken away from you"

These are all things that were said to me during my coming out process of getting clean.

NOW- there is going to be people who say, why didn't you just stop?  You knew alcohol was bad for you before you started, so you shouldn't have gone there to begin with.  There lies the paradox of addiction.  Some people....MOST people can have a drink and then be fine.  Not me.  I have a drink and it takes over my life.  How can I expect others who haven't dealt with it to understand it- I cant.....but I can share my story.

I was raised in a pretty rigid religious structure that taught me that suicide was the most selfish thing and "the sin next to murder" was thrown around a lot.  So I believed that. Then at the age of 15, I started dealing with undiagnosed manic and depression episodes.  When I was manic- I felt like superwoman.  I felt smart, funny, sexy and untouchable.  When I was depressed, I felt....nothing.  The nothingness was the scariest part.  It was beyond feeling down and a "loss of interest".  It was a feeling that I could walk out of my life and no one would notice....or that they would be better off not having to care for me.  It sounds so cliche....I know.  So when my own mental health issues started kicking in, and suicide crept into my life like a shadow, it scared me and most of all shamed me.  I was selfish.

When dealing with mental health issues- the disease is in control.  I am by nature a very methodical, rational, pragmatic personality type.  When I am in the throws of mental illness the very logical rational part of me was gone.  Depression ran the show and I was a passenger.  I was not in my right mind.  I could still pull off the facade that everything was fine....but I wasn't well.  It wasn't a choice to be affected by bipolar or manic depression.  It wasn't a choice at all.  It wasn't even my choice to get help.  I didn't realize that what was happening wasn't "normal".  Luckily I had people in my corner who recognized that something was off and put me in a position to get help. 

So why was I ENRAGED by the "choice theory"?  Mental health is such a personal and often shameful topic that people cant talk about and to have someone essentially victim shame is beyond heartless to me.  You don't know what happens in their head.  You don't know their personal experiences.  You don't know their pain.  I feel like the "choice theory" sets people back even further and keeps people hidden and shamed by a misunderstood disease.  It's one thing to write an opinion piece, its another to actively do damage when you speak to a community already plagued by silence.

This is why I choose to be open and honest about my mental health and addiction issues.  I will talk about them openly and I will share.  Talking about mental health and de-mystifying the disease and who it plagues is where we need to start.  There is no "type" of person that is affected by mental illness or addiction.  Its not just the homeless, or the poor, or the young.  Its probably a family member, a neighbor, a friend or it could be you...  AND THAT'S OK.  It all starts with a conversation.

There are resources available in every community and as much as I would love to list all of them, I don't know them all.  As cliche and cheesy as it sounds there are hotlines and non profits here for this very purpose.  The National Suicide Prevention Hotlines number is 1-800-273-8255.  And if you know someone who needs some help- be that person.  Be that person who takes some time to talk to them.  I didn't know I wasn't well until someone pointed it out to me.  You could be that person for someone else.

Don't believe the lies you tell yourself

I turned 33 on October 30th.  On that day I weighed myself and such a sense of sadness, humiliation, frustration and anger flowed over me.  On that day- I realized I had gained 20 lbs since my hysterectomy 11 months earlier.  I know all the reasons I gained the weight.  It all boils down to three reasons- hormones, peanut butter cups and lies.  Hormonally I was told that I was already in early stage menopause due to the removal of both my ovary and my uterus.  The hormones were also affecting my mood and I was severely depressed.  I had a scary diagnosis and it took me a lot longer to come to terms with it than I imagined.  Third- I lied to myself.  I have told myself for SO long that "I'm just a big girl"  "with my previous injuries I couldn't possibly work out"  "I'm just not the athletic kind of girl".

Now let me back up a bit if you aren't familiar with my past.  In 2009 I weighed over 400 lbs and decided to under go gastric bypass surgery.  I lost 200ish pounds in the time of 2 years.  When I weighed my most- I had hit this point where I just felt like a total failure and I told myself that I couldn't do better.....then I did.  I lost a dramatic amount of weight but I was still not thin by any stretch of the imagination.  I told myself I would NEVER let the weight come back on.  Never.  Well....I did.

So....I had this coming to clarity moment where I decided- Oh my, this is IT.  I looked back and saw what worked best for me in the past and what I hadn't done to well on.  My body loves carbs.....I mean I love carbs.....my body likes to hoard them- in fat.  I have done weight watchers where you count points, and counting calories and as obsessive as I started off with it- within weeks I was over tracking calories and eventually gave up.  When I was going through the surgical process for my gastric bypass they told me that I needed to eat 70 % protein and 30% veg.  I did that religiously to loose the bulk of my weight and then over time I let naughty things creep back in- and eventually bread (the bane of my body's existence) was back in my diet. I knew I had to go back on a carb restrictive diet.  Don't get me wrong- I don't eat direct carbs but what I DO eat- I am eating A LOT.  I am NEVER EVER hungry or sad that I don't have a Reeses cup handy.

The other part of this gigantic slap in the face- Working out.  Guess what- I hate working out.  I hate sweating, I hate feeling everything wiggle around, I hate having to wash my pain in the butt hair everyday- ugh, I just don't like it.  To top it off I have both a knee and back injury that I have ongoing treatment due to nerve damage and chronic pain.  I had told myself that I COULDN'T work out because I would just hurt myself again.  So I was living this lie that I wasn't strong enough to work out.

I realized that when I workout- I eat better, really without trying.  I cant fathom eating chocolate cake after all the hard work it took me to burn those 400 calories in the morning.  So I decided that I NEED to find SOMETHING that was going to work for me and that was maintainable.  Group classes, gyms or basically anything I have to leave my house and pack up the kids to do is....out of the question and not maintainable.  I had to look at my schedule and realized that the only real time I had to work out was my beloved "coffee hour".  NO!  Not my quiet time with a strong cup (or two, sometimes three) of coffee and the internet!  What to do?  Get up 20 minutes earlier and cut my coffee hour down from 60 minutes to 30 minutes.  Crap- there I have time.

Then I saw my primary care physician.  He is the one that really put the lights on for me.  He knows my history and my injuries.  I asked him what I could do- I have a treadmill, a yoga mat and balance ball.   I have some hand weights- where do I start?  His answer literally had me slack jawed- "Have you ever thought of taking up running?"  Without hesitation I answered- "oh no, I cant run!  My knee, my  back, my....no!"  He explained I would have to do a modified plan but there is no better cardio workout than running.

So I came home and realized- I don't know HOW to run.  Seriously- I had no clue how to run.  I figured you just put one foot in front of the other really fast- right?  Well- I tried that for 30 seconds and I was convinced death was imminent.  Like NOW.  I started slow- 30 second run and 4 minute walks.  Let me tell you- I hadn't sweat that much in years.  But guess what?  I did it.  AND- I didn't die.  And guess what?  I felt proud!  I had run for a total of 2 minutes for the first time in my adult life.

I will save you the day by day of the last 77 days.  It has been a process.  I have indeed injured myself and then guess what- I figured out WHY and fixed it and it doesn't happen anymore.  I haven't been perfect and I still cant run one mile with out stopping.  But you know what I can do?  I can run 8 minutes straight through with a two minute walk and then do another 8 minutes.  For my pace- that's just over a mile and a third.  Guess what else I can do?  I can do dead lifts, cleaners, bench presses, rows, and I can lift weights!

The last 77 days has resulted in exactly 25 pounds in weight loss.  But I have gained SO much more!  I gained confidence that I can try things and I can do things I never thought I could.  Guess what else?  I found that hiding inside this fat girl is an athlete that is having fun.  My goal is to run my first ever official 5K by the end of this summer.....and I really think I can do it!