I have grown accustomed to sharing my struggles with mental health over the years. Whether as a outreach presenter with NAMI sharing my story with various types of audiences, or writing a brief post here and there on social media. Whenever May rolls around every year, I am always inclined to share with others, what happened and how I live well mostly in recovery or “remission” from my mental illness. A disclaimer, is that I am not a professional, this is only my lived experiences, and that if you are experiencing a crisis or symptoms, to speak to a provider. Also, I have not always been well, nor do I pretend to be. Instead I live life in the present, whatever the day throws my way, and do my best to stay in tune with my condition daily.

Whenever I recall the events that led to my young adult onset of bipolar disorder I w/ psychotic features, and other diagnoses—generalized anxiety disorder, PTSD, depression, eating disorder, chronic pain: I remember all too well how confused and ashamed I felt. I felt the stigma of mental illness surrounding me so fiercely, that I fell into a deep denial and my symptoms continued to worsen.

Looking back I had a relatively normal childhood, supportive parents. There might have a been a few early clues that I would struggle, as in middle school and high school I did minor outlandish things, but nothing that would cause alarm. Growing up I was a model student, involved in anything and everything, from Girl Scouts, sports, every club known to mankind in high school. All while maintaining an outstanding GPA with honors and AP courses in high school. I loved to learn, I excelled, I was accepted to the few universities I applied to in the the early 2000s. 2002 was an amazing year, but equally difficult on my family. I graduated from Ryken, a private catholic school in a remote town of Southern Maryland. I started Syracuse University that fall, having signed to be part of the DI lacrosse team, with the understood promise of a partial scholarship. While attending Syracuse, I met my best friend, who would stay in my life through the present day, and always supported me no matter how tough life became. I was having the time of my life. All of that came to a screeching halt, as my family had a major change—my father had to stop practicing Law, and financially everything changed. As I came home that winter from Syracuse, I was happy, but simultaneously unsettled about returning. My family couldn’t afford to fund sending me back, and at 42,000 a year at the time that would’ve been extremely hard to carry on my own weight. In a panic I reached out to a family friend, Magggie O’Brien who was the president at the time of another school I was accepted to in my hometown, called St. Marys College of Maryland. I made the leap and transferred schools in time for the spring semester of ‘03. From 2003-2006 when I think back on my time at St Marys…it was again like my illness the best and the worst of times. I had some bright spots, some amazing people I met. Overall, it was also difficult, I drowned myself in my studies, akin to barely treading water in a ripcurrent tide. I graduated with a 3.3 GPA, which for me was a miracle that I even finished.

2006: My senior year at SMCM. I had friends, I was working on my Senior thesis project, called an SMP. I was attractive, and recently much thinner, as I had slowly learn to get into long distance running and also following weight watchers the summer prior. I had a boyfriend. Named Gregors. Who loved and cared about me more than I did my own self. The start of my senior year fall 2006, I seemingly had it all. Slowly but surely, that changed of course. I first (impulsively) ended my relationship with Gregors, and started dating a new student, intriguing fellow who was as handsome as he was mysterious. Only to discover, that he was more than a conservative, but patriarchal, misogynistic asshole. Later on it took every ounce of whatever was left of me to finally be rid of him the next summer. I know your probably wondering…what any of this has to do with my mental health struggles. The timeline slips away and details can get murky as I recall, but this setup was the beginning of me crashing and burning in less than a years time. The ahole. Yes. He was indeed. My friends hated him, and I couldn’t see what they clearly did, and if I did see anything I suppressed it along with any other symptom that reared its head. For that stretch of those months of 2006—I also had two influential friends. Both who suffered strangely enough from Bipolar disorder. Their pseudonyms, they were known as the hippy and the gangster Asian. We had a ball the three of us. We smoked cigarettes late into the night and shared secrets, never getting sleep it seemed at times. Gangster Asian introduced me to harder drugs, that I loved, and I attempted to lead a dual existence. On one hand the trophy exemplary girlfriend and student, the other the drug-using, partying, stealing, and rebellious girl that I was so attached to. Maybe or maybe not so easily, I masked my life from some and lived an outrageous party life style on the other. At the time I also had a part time job, where I had access to extremely tempting things. I inventoried, stole more, covered it up. No one ever knew, aside from Gangster Asian. One day near the end of school as it wrapped up, I tried to escape both of these lives. Suddenly, my worlds collided and Gangster A and ahole wouldn’t let me go so esay. At this point I did more drugs daily, barely hanging on at times to finish my Senior thesis. Sleep was non-existent. I think at one point I went an entire week and a half without sleep. Now, what I know now were early symptoms of my primary diagnosis—I checked all the boxes of diagnostic criteria: risky or impulsive behavior, check. Pressured speech and lack of sleep, check check. Delusions of grandiosity, moving towards psychosis (audio and visual hallucinations), paranoia, and full fledged panic attacks? Check check check. In 2006, summertime, I somehow got away from Gangster A and ahole, and gained a Diagnosis of Bipolar I (one) disorder. It didn’t end there…that was the first time I was diagnosed…and the first time I felt the sting of stigma and denial simultaneously. I ran as far away as I could from my new reality, all the way to North Carolina.

2007–Fall ‘06 and early 2007 was most likely the worst times of my life. As a result of this era, I cannot remember or recall any music released from that timeframe, certain things are blocked from my memory. I do vividly remember most of what I faced as it relates to my mental health. I took a job offer in NC, coaching lacrosse for my little sisters lacrosse team, and also full time as a student activities director for North Carolina Wesleyan College, in the small town of Rocky Mount NC. Those first couple months were hard, as you might imagine a depressive episode followed the mania and psychosis I experienced my senior year of college. Despite my Diagnosis, I ignored all signs, refused to take medication, did not recognize or was not fully aware how truly sick I was. Every day for work for a few months, I would walk into my office, shut the door, and stare at a blank computer screen for hours, as to not raise alarm to anyone, even though I was completely and utterly depressed. I knew no one but my little sis, who was trying to live her best life in college, albeit her big sis cramping her style. I tried desperately to function, to prove to myself that I was ok. I started exercising more again, and have a good routine. For a while, this did work temporarily. In the spiring 2007, I began dating mr. Soccer coach who was kind of the big guy on campus and I had no clue what he saw in me. He in a way kept me safe for as long as he was able to, at least till things got even outside his control too. Late spring 2007, I lost my job as my idiot supervisor finally figured out I wasn’t accomplishing anything at work. I continued coaching, but was now technically homeless. I turned to drugs again, this time choosing to distribute and sell in order to keep my habit, to hide my other new occurring and changing symptoms, and to again cover up the monster stirring inside. Summer 2007, I had no job, floated between couches and my car. Collecting unemployment and selling drugs I somehow skated by a bit longer. Until I resorted again to the stealing behavior pattern. I got really good at it, well, until I wasn’t. I attempted to lift from a fancy Dillards in NC, with close to 700-800 dollars worth of designer jeans in my bag that I intended to repurpose or resale on eBay. I was arrested. I remember that day vividly sitting in holding. My little sis and her little lax buddies helped get me out on bail. I was embarrassed, and confused, again feeling alone in my own skin. Ultimately I was let off with a first offenders program and a misdemeanor to boot. I was more than lucky. After this, I attempted a waitressing gig at a local Ruby Tuesday. This in turn was a disaster, as I seemingly failed to learn my lesson from not ever being able to waitress in college for longer than a few weeks, always getting fired or quitting after cussing out various managers in the past. I thought maybe it just wasn’t a good fit then, So I tested it out. I worked at this Ruby Tuesday’s no longer than a weeks time…and in that time my world continued to crumble. I walked in one day under stress and duress, full of energy. The subsequent day, I walked in, totally different. I was tired, and chill. The next day I was probably bubbly again. The manager, Vanessa, was convinced I was High as a kite, well as it happened then at that time I wasn’t. I was rather having another mental health crisis and relapse. Vanessa fired me so quick I don’t even think i finished training. Remembering how I was then, I was untreated, and my symptoms were so rapidly increasing that I had little control. Angry, I “staged” a protest at the local coffee shop across the way from the restaurant. I got my hands on a megaphone and convinced a couple of coffee high school hangouts to go storm the Ruby Tuesdays asking for Sarah, and telling them to bring me back. Later that night, my friend in the kitchen staff, that I named Jersey, alerted me that Vanessa was coming out to empty trash, I marched over, with a lacrosse stick in my hand, waving it like a helicopter at her. She was probably intensely scared. She told me to leave and that she was calling the cops. Which she did! And I spent the next two days either on the run from the warrant or involuntarily committed. A high schooler that night, perhaps saved my life. I subsequently refer to him as Angel, and called him such at the time. He helped me out of that sticky situation, took me to dinner, before finally realizing that I needed help and left me safely at a local hospital ER. At that ER I was even angrier. I was of course committed, involuntarily. I was handcuffed by a cop, and escorted to another facility where I was restrained over night. When I woke up in that psychiatric hospital, restrained, and black and blue all over my arms, this was the turning point in my life. I was resolved now to accept whatever the fuck I had to, to not end up like this ever again. I for the first time called for help from my parents. They came down and helped get me out of NC. They hired lawyers to deal with Ruby Tuesdays criminal charges, moved me out with the few possessions I had left, and I spent the rest of the summer still angry in Maryland living with my parents. BUT! I slowly got better. I had a scary mixed episode where I attempted that summer to take my own life. Ingesting an entire bottle of lithium, I was confused and also dangerously suicidal. I had already read the side effects and risks of the lithium on the label. Basically, too much at once would eventually shut down my organs. Once I had taken the pills, I had the sense about me still to ask my parents to take me to the hospital. I spent the next three weeks on the heart unit under observation just to keep my heart going. I started to understand the meaning of treatment and acceptance. My dad the self proclaimed “sheriff” would early on dispense my meds for me. My mom and dad did everything they could to support me and help me get better.

ACCEPTANCE—Was not easy. For me it took my entire world literally being rocked. If there is anything I want you to take away from what happened in my life. It is this. ASK FOR HELP!! Talk to someone who you trust and cares about you about how you are feeling. You do not have to lose everything before starting to feel better. Acceptance for me though I had that initial moment of clarity, took awhile to completely sink in,. I spent the rest of 2007 in the fall completely depressed. Christmas 2007 is one of the last times I have felt extreme suicidal ideations. In early 2008, I began searching for ways to get better, to help myself even. I found NAMI early on in 2008. In a way, NAMI saved me, but I will say that I am proud that I did not allow my illness to continue to overcome me. Mental illness is a dangerous thing, that tried to takeover my entire body. I have read that early intervention is very important to treating mental health conditions, as each relapse and each break becomes more detrimental with time on the brain. I believe that to be true, and know that the last break I had in 2012 after the birth of my first daughter, was even worse if you can believe it, than the series that I just relayed to you. I try with every effort now to not only comply with treatment, but to live well in my recovery. Now, those of you who are new to this story, or old and did not know this story above, know that I have a wonderful family, a loving and supportive husband, 2 beautiful girls. Fifteen years after graduation college I am now about to revisit school as a masters online student. I work for NAMI Jacksonville as the program coordinator. I have only the most supportive and positive people in my life. Everyday I am thankful and grateful for this life I have. If you have made it this far in the story, I am sure that I am a story of hope, That if anyone can live a normal life with mental illness, I am proof of that and have survived even more than I care to write. So for MAY is mental health awareness month, I humbly remember where I started this journey. Thank you for taking the time to read. Now things are better, I still have my moments. I comply with my treatment, see my team of providers regularly, take care of myself, volunteer, care for my little family. These days one thing that relaxes me and brings me joy is being outside in our garden. It has come together quite nicely this year. I still think about how I got here, my incentive to stay well. When I reflect I just remember my mantra, that I have been telling myself for years but rarely believed it. Now I do and I tell myself,…Sarah, you are a Sexy Beast.

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