Being sick sucks

Being sick sucks. Period.

There is nothing worse than not feeling well. I’ve recovered from 7 kidney surgeries and 1 brain surgery but nothing could prepare me for my biggest challenge yet-mental illness. I’m the first one to admit, I went a little “crazy” after the birth of my son. They called it Postpartum Psychosis. I don’t exactly remember the first time I heard a voice. However, I do remember feeling terrified and alone. How was I going to tell somebody that I was sick? What will people think of me?  Will I ever get better? These questions raced through my mind. My family eventually noticed something was wrong and took me to the emergency department. Thus began my first stay of 6 different admissions over the last two years to a psychiatric ward.

These questions raced through my mind.

Being admitted is a rather humbling experience. The brain is an amazing and powerful organ when it is functioning properly. When it’s not-all hell breaks loose. I would hear voices of four different men taunting me, calling my name, telling me to commit suicide, and  running a commentary on what I was doing. I thought two men in plaid shirts were after me because I had a microchip inserted into my brain. I hid under my hospital desk for hours at a time rocking back and forth.  Moreover, I feared my psychiatrist was trying to kill me and refused to take my medication regularly. I was officially sick. I was later diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder and soon began a journey through mental illness that has changed me as a person.

When I was in  teachers college I shared an apartment with a friend named Mike. Mike was the kind of guy who was always eager to help, always put everyone else’s importance in front of his own. I wasn’t aware of it, but Mike was mentally ill. He decided to take his own life. To this day I wonder how I could have been so close to someone and not know it. They say that one in five people will battle with a mental illness at some point in their life. If this is true, then why do we as sufferers feel so alone?

It does not make me any less of a person.

Every year a golf tournament and dinner are held in Mike’s name to raise money for mental health awareness in our area. The only problem-it doesn’t bring Mike back. Looking back over the last two years I can say it’s been an adventure. Not particularly one I was interested in taking, but I guess that is life. I’ve spent the last few months of my life trying to make sense of everything that has happened. I’ve finally succumbed to the fact that I can’t. Sometimes life is shit. However, it’s those moments in time that make us appreciate our fortunes. I’m a lucky person. I’m surrounded by friends and family who love and care about me. I know the road to recovery is not an easy one, but it’s a road I’m willing to travel.

Getting help does not make me weak.

I have schizoaffective disorder. It does not make me any less of a person. It just means my struggles may be greater than others. It does not mean that my life isn’t worth living. Moreover, it does not mean that I can’t overcome mental illness.It’s time to put the stigma to rest. We all face challenges. Some of us battle with our mental health but too many of us do it in silence. Getting help does not make me weak.

So I write this story for myself, for my recovery, and most importantly, for my roomate Mike-who wasn’t as alone in his struggles as he thought he was. If I can encourage just one person to get help, I’ve done my part.