An abbreviated look into my story:
Living with mental illness is hard. Very hard. For everyone. For individuals who struggle. For their family and friends, others on the sidelines, who watch the struggle, small, medium, large, or way more than large sized struggles. For those who suffer in silence. Coping is hard.
Often someone with the mental illness is unable or unwilling to accept the help of others, is crushed by self-imposed feelings of guilt, shame, and embarrassment that worsen symptoms and make self-acceptance of being a human with mental illness. Feeling broken and lonely or panicked and unsafe are common states of mind that take over rational thinking, allowing the illness to take over someone’s whole self, and prevent the ability to accept that mental illness is only a piece of one’s identity.
My long and complicated journey looks something like this:
Initial diagnosis by PCP. First line meds. Referral for therapy. More and more med trials, group therapy, new therapist. First psychiatrist. Long, long, long weeks, months of dark sleeping, literally and figuratively. Combinations of newer therapists and psychiatrists. New diagnoses, being wrongly diagnosed again and again, resulting in, what I believe, inappropriate, ineffective, and providers grasping for straws to find something that worked. Old school drugs, new on the market drugs. No drugs at all and whole body and mind withdrawals. Family therapy, marriage counseling, review meds, group, therapy. Individual therapy for processing. Rinse, repeat. 22 years and counting.
Children of the 80s with mental health problems weren't really seen, recognized, or treated. I don't believe any of this was intentional, rather, mental health awareness was simply not a thing. "Crazy" people were ignored or feared, institutionalized maybe. Adults of the 80s didn't have it much better... self-medicating was a norm, drugs, alcohol, risky living. Thinking back and reflecting on my "official" journey, my original diagnosis of generalized anxiety at just shy of 20, I understand very obviously that I was an anxious kid in all the ways, socially and separational, with low self-esteem, very little confidence, body dysmorphic disorder, feeling like an outsider, you can continue the list as you wish. Since 2001, I've taken 40 +/- psych meds in countless combinations, have had 6 or 7 or 8 therapists, 7 psychiatrists, and a shit ton of therapy across modalities, with Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT), that I admittedly absolutely despised and tried to quit at the start of every module for about 17 months, being the most impactful, influential, and helpful therapy that I've ever participated in, the therapy that starting shifting my acceptance of reality, finding the positive (in like month 15, second round of a module, my favorite skill!), acknowledging my feelings and considering daily practices, behaviors, and thought patterns.
During my journey, I (WE) experienced medical leaves, months on the couch, disengaged and deeply depressed, added postpartum depression, twice, unemployment and related financial implications, relationship difficulties that were close to catastrophic at times, (especially within our home), a couple visits to partial, and an overnight or two in Newark, some time at Mom and Dad's. My first psychiatrist pulled me off my meds cold turkey, and I was without until I could find another provider. I had a therapist who dissociated in session, a psychiatrist who told me he was out of treatment ideas for me and that there is no magical pill to help marriages, another psychiatrist who diagnosed borderline personality disorder and told me meds would never help me, and that I needed to be grateful that I wasn't bipolar, because bipolar is a life sentence of meds. (PS I was most recently diagnosed Bipolar 2, so imagine how I freaked out – anxious, angry, paralyzed – shortly after that.) Trauma took over, me, and my family. Panic attacks. An eating disorder. Shane never giving up, even when it was ugly and completely out of control in our home. Care takers hurt too, and resentment was alive for both of us.
And then. Healing was happening. I was learning to love myself and others, be able to trust again, understanding, forgiving, and accepting myself (and others), being present and engaged and having my heart explode with a very much missed happiness that comes thru healthy living, improved relationships, an increase self-confidence and self-esteem, and really, what may be the best of all these positives changes: I found my smile again, and then I started laughing, I was enjoying life. I find so much comfort and joy and appreciation for the ‘things’ I used to do and an eagerness to try new things, even the ones that trigger emotions and behaviors of the past, which made effort close to impossible sometimes. The more these realizations and experiences unfolded, the more I wanted to stay on a healthy path, mentally, emotionally, and physically. I remembered that I had things to do, and I would be damned if I didn't do them.
Soccer mom? Scouting mom? Date nights!
The past year has been hard. Really hard. Mom's cancer diagnosis, Terry's suicide, monitoring anxiety and depression symptoms we see in the boy and their school avoidance. The culture of work has changed drastically, and the structure of the organization is transforming. Shane's got his own 'stuff' these days too. Not my story to tell.
And. We're doing it. All of it. Living. Loving. Hard things. Fun things. Finding new adventures. Reflecting on the past. Learning about failure and disappointment, modeling accountability and responsibility. Being proud and being humble. Figuring it out, no matter what 'it' may be. Shane and I celebrate our 17th wedding anniversary next week. Tommy is so close to 14 he can taste it. I’m pretty sure that Joey just about the kindest 11 year old human I know. The Degnans, we’re 4 humans who are "Just Trying."
With this. Mental illness matters. And it matters a lot. We are walking as a family today for me, my sons who are navigating middle school struggles, my supporters, the ones I love and appreciate more than I can ever express. The ones I don’t even know who are cheering from a corner behind me. For Terry. I miss you. I love you.
NAMI Rochester is a supportive community of professionals and community members, with mental health concerns or as a safe haven for those who do. Your support provides free mental health programming in our community, so incredibly needed. We are so grateful for you!
