-SURVIVING MANIC DEPRESSIONMy Story & The Real Truth on Managing It
CHRISSY SMITH
Dedicated to my Husband, Jim. I love you more than words can say! You are my greatest support and forever my best friend. Thanks for being there for me always!
Thanks to my family for all their support, in my
younger years. Thank-you for helping me out for years, with my illness. I know, that I put you through so much worrying for me and for that I am sorry. Thanks to my children for taking the bull by the horns, when they were older and helping me through the rough times. Everyone was a great support and helped in so many ways, to get me to this point in my life. I know, don’t get “sick” and can take care of myself, without needing the great help of others. I have learned to manage my disorder and am a very happy person now!
This book is not intended to take the place, of a good Psychiatrist and Counselor. It is intended to be in aid and informational reference book, for you to use in addition to a Doctor or medical professional. Please make sure you consult a Doctor first and also use this book, for inspiration. It is a guidance reference, contain-ning my story and how I overcame the hardships of my disease, ManicDepression Illness, also known as Bi-Polar Disorder.
-SURVIVING MANIC DEPRESSIONMy Story & The Real Truth on Managing It
TABLE Of CONTENTS:
DEDICATIONS
PG 2
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
PG 3
CHAPTER ONE – My Story
PG 7
CHAPTER TWO – What You’re up Against PG 31 CHAPTER THREE – Planning Your Goals PG 52 CHAPTER FOUR – Your First Steps PG 63 CHAPTER FIVE – Signs & Symptoms PG 76 CHAPTER SIX –
No “Stinking Thinking” PG 81 CHAPTER SEVEN – Keeping on Track PG 86 CHAPTER EIGHT – Wrap it Up PG 94 CHAPTER NINE – The Future
PG 98
CHAPTER TEN – References
PG 110
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PG 113
CHAPTER ONE – MY STORY
When
I look back, on my past what I see is a lot of wasted
time. Don’t get me wrong it was all a learning process. Obviously, it was what I had needed to go through. It made me the person who I am today. It just was so many, many years of heartache. It was a very trying time and I got “sick” a lot of the time. I will get into what the word “sick” means to me, in a later chapter. For now, just understand that it means I was cycling out of control with
the Highs (manic-phase) and also the lows (depressivephase). I started out as a very shy child, with emotions and ideas that were probably not the norm. My parents did notice, just how shy I was but didn’t realize that they may have contributed or equaled a terrible mental illness. It took me many years to be able to call it that. When I first heard that, I was just totally devastated by it. Nonetheless, I was a very different kind of child. I don’t think my parents had ever even suspected that later on there would be a big problem with me. My mother was even a Registered Nurse and had seen this illness or disorder before but never equated it with her own daughter. I went through a very shy childhood and young pre-teen
years. I started to come out of my shell a bit, when I got to ninth grade in High School. By tenth grade, I was a bit more out-going but within myself. I still worried over everything and was very paranoid about things. I didn’t understand that something was very, very wrong yet. It would be soon enough, that I was going to find out that there was something wrong. I’d have to learn to deal with it, the best way I knew how to. This was going to be a struggle for years to come.
By the time I was 14, I was hospitalized but it was called a “nervous breakdown”. I received no real diagnosis for my disease. I didn’t like the title of a nervous breakdown much either. But the worse was yet to come for me. I had tried marijuana, for the first time. This was at 14 years of age. I felt I had no peripheral vision, that night. I got very high from smoking a whole joint. Since I had never smoked one it affected me greater. I proceeded at about 12:00 a.m. to my parent’s bedroom and told them that I had no peripheral vision. I told them to get up and get dressed, as I felt I interrupted something going on in there. But I was delusional at this time so, who really knows? I continued back to their room after about fifteen or twenty minutes. I
told them yet again that I had no peripheral vision and that I had smoked pot for the very first time today. I told them I was sick and needed that I had needed their help. They jumped off their bed and my dad seemed more concerned that I had smoked the marijuana, than the matter at hand. He said that he knew I was high earlier that day. I remembered back to thinking how funny, a letter I read was earlier. I thought about how I
could not concentrate on it or any-thing else, at that time. My mother told my father that this was not the issue and that it didn’t matter about the pot I had smoked. She then told him that they needed to do something for me and not worry about that part of it. As I said my mother was a Registered Nurse, at the time and was better at handling situations than my father had seemed to be. They got dressed and decided to take me to the local Emergency Room. The local hospital at the time, had no rooms for me. I was delusional, stressed out and totally out of control, within my mind. I always thought I was dying, in my younger years. Most of my life I thought I was dying. I was an adult in my twenties and still thought I was dying. Every
time I had gotten so-called “sick” I was dying. This was a common theme to it all. I couldn’t get that concept out of my mind. I didn’t want my family to feel sorry for me but thought they should because “I was dying” and this was it for me. I never thought that if I was really dying, that they’d love me enough to rush me to the hospital and try to save me. I find it funny now that this fact had never crossed my uniquely strange yet different mind. Anyway, that night we ended up being sent to the next hospital, which was a bit of a drive from there. It was another forty minutes up Route 17. I was flipping out in the backseat of the car. I was telling them how I was dying and moaning for them to help me. They told me that they were helping me. My parents weren’t always the most comforting at times. I would have had one of them sit in the backseat with me but neither of them did so. They just basically ignored my antics, as much as possible. I think they were speechless and really didn’t know what to say. I would have not taken “I was not dying” for an answer, at this point and time. I was convinced that this was my time and that was it. They knew I was delusional and just dealt with trying to drive, with all my antics going on from the backseat. I was scared out of my mind at the next hospital. My
Parent’s left me, with tears in their eyes. They really didn’t hang out long before leaving. I kept saying I loved them to them but that wasn’t really a common occurrence for me by the time I was 14 years old. I really thought I hated my mother than as teenagers tend to do and my dad really wasn’t a very cuddly type of person. They never said they loved me back and that stung a lot. Don’t get me wrong because they love me and I have seen that over years of time. My father has supported me in my times of finan-cial needs and has taken on a “father-ly” role to my three children. But he was raised in a different era and men didn’t show their feelings much. I was very close up to 12 years old but after that I no longer sat on his lap or joked around with him much. I was becoming a young lady by then and maybe that scared him a bit. I don’t really know but I know this is when it happened. I always wished my father was like my best friend Diana’s dad. They were devote Catholics and she was “Daddy’s Little Girl”. I was always so jealous of how they interacting with one another. But he ruled the roost with her. He was extremely strict with her and there was no make-up, goofing off or boys for that fact. She was jealous of me because I didn’t have such strict parents and I wore make-up. But then again I was also two years older than her. I was very anorexic like
skinny at this time and Diana was going through her “chubby” time. I guess she was jealous of that too. When we visited her down in Atlanta, Georgia I caught her throwing her food up. This was my first experience with the deadly disease of Bulimia. I couldn’t believe my eyes and I knew to scold her. She told me not to tell her parents and I should have but I didn’t. I was just beside myself and it didn’t stop she did it every meal that I was there. She was only about 11 or 12 years old and already a full fledge Bulimic. I was just devastated by this. I knew her since she was born and this was not what I wanted to see or know about her now. I couldn’t stop her and began to get “use” to it. But kept on yelling at her because I was only 13 or 14 at the time and didn’t realize that she couldn’t help herself yet. She’d go through bouts of is throughout her lifetime but would eventually conquer it. She turned out to be the most beautiful woman, that I know. She is trim and fit in a healthy way and anyone would want to have her great body. Anyway, getting back to my first hospitalization here. I remember that night; I did not sleep a wink-not a wink in that upstate Hudson Hospital. There was a huge man of at least 400 to 500 pounds. He stood near by my room. He had guards and was some kind of crazy criminal. He really did
scare the shit out of me. I went for three days there, with no sleep and not eating. Then they moved me back, to the local hospital. I was not glad about being in any hospi-tal. But this was the better choice. There I saw all kinds of mental patients. I didn’t feel that I belonged there. My parent’s were just doing what they thought was best, at the time. I was put into suicide watch, for three days there which was insane for me because I was already scared that I was dying. So, why the hell would I go and kill myself? But this was their procedure and everyone was put on to suicide watch. It really didn’t matter what you told them. You’d be watched over in a suicidal watch prevention type of atmosphere. I never slept, while I was there right away. Eventually, they drugged me to sleep. Which, I hated very much. I hated feeling out of control, on drugs. I liked a clear mind but with this bout of my illness, my mind was not clear. I was put on Haledon and a bunch of other drugs. None of which, I ever had again. I kept complaining of neck aches. SO, they put me on a muscle relaxant. That was a very good drug, whatever it was.
I stayed there for two weeks and was not happy about it. I did counseling that I didn’t feel I needed but mostly just avoided other patients. I constantly called my Mother day and night. I’m sure that she got no sleep. I’d hang up after just speaking with her, only to call her again and again. This was all night long and the staff let me do this. I just couldn’t understand why they didn’t take the phone away from me but they didn’t. Maybe the staff was afraid of all us “Crazies” in there but I’m not sure. They really did a poor job with their positions, within the hospital. Anyway, I was asking my mother to get me out of there but that was not happening for me anytime too soon. SO, I did my time there and then went home. After that traumatizing event, I started seeing a Psychiatrist. My parents searched for the best one around. He came highly qualified and was not easy to acquire. He didn’t take on many new patients. My insurance didn’t cover him and he was very expensive but my parents were willing to pay for his services. Anything to help there loony tune daughter. They wanted to “fix” me but that was not ever going to happen for them. I couldn’t be fixed. I was born damaged but these so-called damages would be my asset in the long run. My damages made me smarter, made me strive
harder for things and most of all made me see things in a very different light, than other people saw things. The Psychiatrist quickly realized that I had a form of Manic-Depression or also known, as Bi-Polar Disorder. I hated hearing these words. But I had a diagnosis now. That meant it could be worked with. It was worse hearing it was a mental disease or illness. I didn’t believe that I was “Mental”. That really saddened me. I saw the Doctor and his Psycholo-gist weekly for a very long time. They prescribed what they thought were the right medications. They were for a
while but I think I out grew them or something. Lithium was always a safe choice and we are missing it in our brains. But it was also an old medica-tion used over time throughout history for this disease. I think it had worn out its welcome, so to speak. But as years go by, they come out with better ones which are more suited for people to take. I had triggers to my getting so-called “sick”. I had the neck pain and other signs. I usually, stopped sleep-ing and eating during these times. I learned as I got older how to stop it from happening through these signs. But yet again, I was hospitaliz-ed when I was 16
years old. I went to the same local Hospital and went through the same drill. I stayed again for another two or three weeks. This time I just knew I was sick one night and asked them to take me to the hospital. I was delusional, had hallucina-tions from lack of sleep and just needed to be hospitalized. It was just how it was, at that time. I had the idea, that this was just how my life was going to be. I’d always just be hospitalized, at different times in my life but I was wrong. But this time all my friends came to see me from school. I even was in the hospital as the same time as a friend who had had knee surgery. His cousin and him would come down to the “mental ward” and shoot pool with me. Plus, all my other friends would come for visits. By that time I had met enough people in my new school district and had a great group of friends. They were all concerned for me but soon learned what I suffered from. I don’t think they judged me but they really didn’t get what my illness was or would mean for me. But I was just glad that they all cared about me and that showed through there actions when I was hosp- italized. As I said, my mother was a Registered Nurse and she started taking care of me, at home. I got sick a couple
times a year. It seemed to always be around the same times, of year. My late Sister, Cindy was five years older than I was and would come to help my Mother out with me. I am so thankful for the both of them, doing this for me. It was hard on them, to see my like this all the time. Sometimes, my family had tears in their eyes. I would have cried to see them, like that too. So, I understood all this but in my eyes, I was always dying. That was the main focus of my mind. I was scared to death that I was dying. Well, I’m now 43 years old and I was NOT dying, thanks to God. But that was what I had thought, for many, many years. I’m here to tell you, that you can learn the techniques that I have found worked for me. I was hospitalized one last time. It was 8 months after my late Sister, Cindy had passed away. She had a year and a half battle, with Melanoma cancer (skin cancer). It was very sad to watch her struggle to survive and then be defeated, by this horrible disease. She had gotten sun burned, at a local camp a few times. She was only about 18 years old, when she worked there, as a lifeguard that summer. She passed away because of that, at the age of 43 years old. Which I happen to be now.
Anyway, I was a bit stressed out, at that time and I admit I was not acting myself. But I was mourning the death, of the only person who truly knew who I was and accepted me no matter what. It turns out that I was NOT sick, that time. But my Parents had me committed. I could not get out of the hospital. They kept me almost the maximum time, which is allowable by law. I stayed 13 days of the 15 maximum, allowable days by the laws. I spent Christmas, in that local hospital and got out on New Year’s Eve. I guess they took pity and let me out, two days early for some strange reason. I begged for my parents, once again to please get me out and that I was not sick. I was a grown adult by this time and had not been in that Hospital, since I was a teenage. They were so mad and distraught, by my actions that my Dad refused to get me out or even listen to me. My Mother tried but with no success, to get me out. I spent three days, during a snowstorm without fresh clothes to put on. They gave me no maxi pads or tampons, at the hospital for days. I had my period, which happened a lot when I did get sick. It was during my cycle, so this might help out some. I finally did get them, after yelling
at the workers, that I needed them and what kind of hospital was this. I washed my underwear in the sink. on them. I used toilet paper to keep them, as clean as possible. Before I was taking by Police that night, to the hospital. Well, my Mother had called the Mental Health Unit that I was off my Medications. Which by the way were making me sick with horrible diarrhea. I stopped them but was looking for another drug to take, at the time. They showed up late that night, with the State Police. My Mother to this day still claims she had no idea that they were bringing the Cops. They had my children and my mother leave in her Expedition. While she was gone the State Police Trooper physically abused me. He was holding me with such force, that I had a 12-inch by 4 inch terrible bruise, on the underneath of my arm. He also had my dark purple lace bra exposed, while he held my arms up in the air, pinching and bruising me, like I had never been bruised. I pleaded with him but he had no mercy. I had not done anything wrong and I had never had handcuffs on me. I was not having them put behind my back. All I could think of is what if I had an itch. I know
ridiculous but it was a worry. So, I asked them to put them in front of me. But I guess that is not routine, for the State Police ever. While I pleaded and struggled with the State Police Trooper, the lady from Mental Health walked around my house. Like this was her place to do so. I was so mad and aggravated by this useless situation. I asked him to have her pull my shirt down, to cover up my breast. He told her she better not or I’d have her on harassment charges too. So, the whole entire time, I had my bra exposed to him and was very uncomfortable. He ended up calling for back up. I sat there like this, for what seemed to be a very long time. But eventually two back up State Police Troopers came. They were very nice and explained to me that I was calling him “Officer” and he was “Trooper”. No one would give me his name and he got away, with what he had done to me. To this day, I’m still very mad over it all. It should not have even happened because I was no criminal. The nicer Troopers then handcuffed me, in front of my body. I got both of their names and told them that there was no way; I was riding with the other Trooper anywhere. They told me that I could go with them. I asked one to get me, one of my bottled waters out of my fridge and he did.
They would not let me get my coat and it was cold wintertime, in New York. They were scared of my Chocolate Labrador Retriever that was in my bedroom. They told me they’d turn up the heat, in their SUV. I went to the hospital without a coat or my dentures. I had lost my teeth; by the time I was 33. I couldn’t wear them, anyhow. They were poorly made and gagged me. I left with them and they were very nice in their vehicle. I asked them to turn down the heat, as it was blasting in the SUV. They said I was never happy, like they’d known me for years. The driver Trooper was very cute but a little younger than myself. I sat in the backseat with the other rookie, Trooper. He was a nice African-American man who probably didn’t understand the fact, of why I was wearing Tupac, on my shirt. I didn’t even know this, as I was an adult and was given this t-shirt. Unfortunately, I had worn it on that particular day. By the time, I had gotten to the hospital I soon realized that the back of my jeans, were ripped. My ass was hanging out of them and everyone could see it, as I walked through these halls. No one ever said a thing, as I had no clothes brought to me for three days. I was not wearing a hospital gown and I just walked proudly, with these jeans on. Later on, I was pretty embarrassed about this. All of
it ate me alive. They brought me in to the hospital, like a common criminal in handcuffs. The girl asks if I will now behave, if she takes them off. I felt like I was behaving just fine. The younger driver Trooper didn’t want to leave me there, but he had no choice. He looked like he wanted to cry, when he left me like that. They drugged me eventually and I just asked to be taken to my room. They wanted to show me around, when I couldn’t even see straight. It was insane, that they could get away with drugging a person, against her will but they did. This was my final hospitali-zetion in December of 2008 but I was not sick. I dealt with it but felt like I was locked up, in my own prison. I had to watch my stuff and sleep with my eyes open. One night I had missed dinner and I had gone to ask the main worker there, If could have some food as I was starving. He told me that I shouldn’t have missed dinner. He also said you get more with honey than sour. I told him “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee” the great Ali quote. I walked away and went to my room to have a dab of toothpaste, which curbed my appetite. He sent in an orderly with a ton of crackers, fruit and drinks for me. So, I guessed he was amused by my response. This is the hell that
goes on in a hospital sometimes. But I survived it and now am here to tell my story to you. I have spent many years being sick, throughout my life but now have spent many Years, without getting sick either. I haven’t been “sick” now since the year 2000. But it is a doable thing by using my methods for this deadly disease. “You too, can overcome this disease, by using and following my methods. It’s not a quick plan but a Lifelong commitment but it is something that will work for you!” --Chrissy Smith
CHAPTER TWO – WHAT YOU’RE UP AGAINST You
are up against a lot here. Hopefully, you have a thick
skin and can take the negativity. I don’t mean to come off, sounding negative or pessimistic but it’s just a reality, with this disease. You can make the negativity of this illness, into a positive thing. People frown down, at this illness. They do not understand it or really have the correct facts. You must move forward to change, how you deal with
your illness and realize that you are the main impor-tance here. It’s not about everyone else and their opinions. This is your time, for you to help yourself! First of all, it’s hard for us to admit that there is a problem. That’s the first goal, in your treatment here. You must realize that you do have an illness or disease. However, you may want to put it. You need to know your disease and how it affects your body. Then you can work on how it affects others, in your life. But admitting that there is a problem does come first. If you can’t do that, then you will have to work on it, for a while. It’s not easy to accept but you really must do that. You cannot move forward, until you realize you came with a disorder-a mental illness. It’s just who you are and it makes you unique. It’s not all a bad thing, although It does takes awhile to realize that one, as well. I can’t stress the importance here, with letting yourself accept your illness. You have to know that you have one, if you picked up this book but some still won’t want to admit it. I had to work on this one, for a long time too. Once you have that straight, you must work on knowing your illness and how it affects you. You must research the illness and
figure out how it applies to you. Everyone is different and has varying forms of the illness. No one person is the same. That may not be in the medical books, but from experience I’m telling you that this is true. You can have a worse case of this illness or just have it mildly. Only you or your Psychiatrist can say for sure. You will figure it out, after reading this book. If you have never been hospitalized, then chances are you have a very mild case of it. I hope that helps with this subject matter. Knowing yourself and your illness, takes sometime to figure out. You can learn how your body and mind work with this illness. It took me quite awhile to learn and figure it all out. But with the help of my book here, you can do it more easily. I’d like to first give you a definition, in my own words of Bi-Polar Disorder, aka Manic-Depressive Illness. It’s a chemical imbalance, in your brain. It’s not your fault, as you were born with this. So, you don’t have to kick yourself, over this. It just ended up that way. If you have this disease, then it runs in your family. Somewhere along the way, some one in your family had it. It runs ramped, in my family although; a lot went undiagnosed in
the early years. Anyway, you are missing the chemical called “Lithium” and that’s why a lot of times, they do in the earlier years prescribed this drug/medication for us to take. I took it for most of my life but eventually it made me literally sick. With this chemical imbalance you get periods of Mania, which is the manic-phase and it can sometimes feel like a good thing. You have lots of energy or so you think. You get lots done around the house or when you go out. You are on a high and life seems so great to you. BUT you are in for a fall, if you don’t do something to stop this. It can also be a time, where some people do outrageous things. They may steal, commit crimes or even have sexual escapades that they would not have done normally. It’s really not a fun time, but may seem that way for some. You are setting yourself up for the downfall of the Depressive Phase. This is a dark place, where all is WRONG with the world. You are down and depressed. Some may even feel suicidal. You need to seek medical attention, if you get to this point. You may cycle in the Manic Phase for a long time. It can last weeks, months or even years, untreated. The Depressive Phase comes eventually with a big boom. You aren’t even expecting it, but it does come. You now enter
This phase and it can last even longer, if it goes untreated. People in this phase; really just don’t like their life or life in general. This book will help to weed out, these phases. It will help you to recognize them, and care for them before they get worse. You don’t have to go through these phases at all and I’m here to tell you how to go about, all of this. What had bothered me the most, while first learning to deal with the fact, that I had this illness was knowing that people would judge me. I tended not to tell many people. Of course, my good friends knew about it. They came and visited me, in the hospital. It was everyone else that I didn’t want to know. But as time goes on, you do realize that it’s not that important. What people think doesn’t matter. What does matter is you getting the help, you need to move on with life. You need to be able to live a complete life, while functioning as normal as possible, for you. This is all a hard concept for younger people, to grasp on to. But when you start caring more for your own well being, then you realize others opinions don’t really matter. Especial-ly, if they are negative ones. My health and stability of my mind come first over all else in my life. I have to be the most important thing, in
my life. I know, this sounds very selfish but once you can love yourself and be very honest about who you are…Well, then you can start to help with others needs, too. While in recovery (we will call it) you have to make yourself, your TOP PRIORITY. It’s of the upmost importance. How you look at yourself and your illness, well, that is very important to your overcoming this disorder, disease or illness. You can call it whatever you wish but it is all the same thing. It’s a stigma that is attached to al of us, who have it. BUT It does make us very unique, bubbly and powerful people. We don’t get overlooked, that’s for sure. We are usually the hit at a party. People really don’t get bored when they are around us. We have a varied persona-lity, with characteristics like no one else! Remember that while on your journey here, to a better you. You are not that different, from everyone else. Everyone has some burden, in their life but your illness makes you a lot more interesting to others. Trust me, they may not know what it is about you but they do know, your special. And I don’t mean “special” as in a mentally handicapped way but rather in a unique creation of Gods. I wanted to make sure to get into everything that has made me come to this point in time. It’s hard for a person
to be totally honest but I’m here to help others and do just that. I wanted to get into my past some more. It shapes who I am today. I had lots of bad things happen and I did things that I shouldn’t have. But a lot of this may have been prevented, with the right medications. After I was diagnosed with manic-depressive illness, I was just devastated. I wondered why God did this to me and why it wasn’t somebody else who had it. I feel bad now for wishing this to be others and not me but I did. Then one day, I woke-up and said why not me. What made me so special, that I couldn’t have this illness? Why was I not to be subjected to something in this nature? I just didn’t want it. I wanted it to go away and stay away. I wanted to be so-called normal and I was far like everyone else was. By the time I had dropped out of High School, well I had been with at least four guys. I wasn’t proud of this but all I wanted was to be loved by them. I was a very silly teenager, with false expectations of teenage boys and what they were looking for. Then I started drinking at bars, by the time I was 18 years old. I told my Doctor what I was drinking and he told me to limit it to just a couple of drinks. He knew he couldn’t stop this behavior, at this
time. The only good thing was that I turned out not to be an alcoholic. A lot of Bi-Polar people have alcohol and drug dependencies, to self-medicate themselves. If this is the case, you must first take care of that problem. You can’t take medica-tions for this illness, while drinking all day and night. That just won’t work for you and you may end up killing yourself, in the process. I did not take my medications, on the nights that I drank. I drank at the bars from the age of 18 until about 22 years of age, when I got engaged and calmed down a bit. I was on the verge of having children and things were changing for me. While I was drinking during those years, I did no drugs. I was never a drug person. Although, I tried the pot in High School and smoked it once in a blue moon with friends. But then decided I didn’t like my mind, being out of control. I slept around way too much but I was in a manic state, a lot of the time. I thought the world was my oyster and nothing could go wrong. I was sadly mistaken. I only drank two drinks one night and I ended up being raped. I to this day remember nothing, as I was slipped roofies. There were two men and when we got to their apartment,
there was the one man’s girlfriend there. I have no idea what they did to me that night. I wish I did and I wish I had understood fully what had happened to me. I needed to report them but I never did. The one Man did do jail time for various rapes, in a local city. So, I was not the only one. I was only 21 years old, at the time and I will never forgive myself for letting them get away with this. No one deserves this and this man still lives in my town. He is a terrible drug addict with a very bad life. I only hope that someday God interjects and gives him what he deserves. I truly don’t believe he has ever paid fully for all of his crimes. What these scumbags Joey and Mike had done to young Women, just makes me sick. How could anyone do such a horrible thing? I don’t know what they did or if they took pictures or a video. I just know they had sex with me. I don’t know if the girl did things to me or not. I blacked out and I know nothing, to this day. I do remember when I fell asleep and what I was doing at that very moment and I do remember waking up in the morning around 8 or 9 a.m. They “boys” who were older than I by at least five years came in and told me to take a shower. They said they’d be back to give me a ride home. Like so nothing ever happened. I didn’t want to take that shower but knew they might hurt
me, if I didn’t. They left and I thought I could just fake the shower. Wet my hair and run the water but then I decided I must just do what they said. I was protecting myself from them. They did come back and they did bring me home. I NEVER saw either of them again. But I know the one lives here, in my town and the other one is in a nearby town, about 20 miles away. The interesting thing is that I did see the girlfriend, at my obstetrician’s years later. I was pregnant with my first child and she with her first one, by the rapist. She stuttered, as I spoke to her. I asked if that was his kid and she said yes. She was apparently very nervous. We never said much and I walked away. But it was obvious she knew what had happened years earlier. So, many people in this town are out to get this man but I think in the end, God will take care of it all. I can only hope, he pays somehow for all he has done to lots of women, who just didn’t deserve this. I got married soon after this event and I had my three wonderful children. I had a horrible seven-year marriage but soon moved on, with my children in hand. This was the best decision I ever made. I needed to get away from my first husband. He was an alcoholic drug-
addict and just a horrible mean person. I think he hated himself and life. I rid myself of him and my kids were better off for it. Enough on this chapter of my life or we will have a never-ending chapter here! SO, decisions you make when manic, may decide how your life proceeds. You may make decisions, because of the state you are in. They are not well thought out decisions. You can learn to take the steps, to realize you are decisions, at this point and time. So, you are not only up against others opinions or thoughts about your illness BUT also up against your “manic” state of mind. You must conquer this state of mind and I will get into all of this, in a later chapter. I just wanted to give you an idea of things and how they affect us all.
Please Note: I had the same Doctor for almost 19 years. He kept me on a medication that was causing problems, for me after very long-term use. The biggest problem I had was that I could not swallow pills or I’d never have been off of them, at times. Which most people with this illness do try many times over their lifetime. We think we can make it without medications but that is just not the case for us to be able to do. We constantly try to fool ourselves and
cause ourselves more heartache in the process. Don’t let this be you. I now have had a wonderful Doctor for over four years, who put me on abilify (very low mg) and that has done the trick for me!!
“If you take one step forward but then three steps backwards then how far have you really gone? You can’t dwell too much on your past but rather move forward and chalk it up as a learning experience. No matter how hard it hurts you, you must move on from it. Easier said then done but its just how it is!” – Chrissy Smith