My mental illnesses
You heard that right, illnessES, because nothing in life is ever easy. Mental illnesses go hand in hand, most of them tying back to depression, in one way or another.
Depression is a dark, evil monster. It can drag you down to places you had no idea existed. On those days, when I can't get out of bed, it's because I'm trying to claw my way out of my own personal hell, and my anxiety is telling me I'm not strong enough.
Anxiety. Oh, gosh. Honestly, neither anxiety or depression is worse than the other. They are holding hands and giggling at me, as I slowly drop into a deep dark MENTAL BREAKDOWWWWWNNNNNN. I said that the way that Bill Nye would emphasize something, because not even mental illness can take away my sense of humor!
Growing up, I witnessed my mother struggle with depression, but I didn't really understand it, nor did I understand that I was struggling with it. I was a teenager who got picked on, of course I had some depression. That's natural, right? Apparently, for some people, it's not. As the years went on, I started to realize that it wasn't just a teenage phase. As I grew older and my issues became more "adulty" I realized that I was dealing with a bigger issue.
When I was 17, I was misdiagnosed with a rare disease, which ultimately led me to believe that I was dying. It was a really scary time in my life and I was really depressed. When I was 11, I got into a bicycle accident and it left a strange bruise on my stomach that just never went away. At first, I was told it was a chrome tattoo from flipping over the handlebars on my bike. Turns out, in order to get a chrome tattoo, you have to have skin to chrome contact, which would have meant I would have had to have been riding around a school, at the age of 11, which no shirt on. I can promise you, I was not doing that. So, I ignored it, until I was 17 and I was seeing a doctor that I thought would maybe be able to get me real answers. After a biopsy, the doctor called and had my mom and I come in to talk to her about my results. If that doesn't already scare you, I don't know what will. As we sat down, she informed me that it was Scleroderma, also known as a hardening of the skin due to a trauma to the area. She then informed me that I needed to make sure it didn't spread, and if it did, I needed to be in contact with her because it could also spread to and harden the skin around my organs, which would then fail. WHAT IS A 17 YEAR OLD SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THAT INFORMATION?!?!?!?!
I watched my body very carefully over the next couple of years, and eventually started noticing some more bruising popping up that wasn't going away, so I decided to get an appointment at OHSU in Portland (which, for a small town girl OHSU and the sky tram are terrifying). By the time I got in to see a doctor, I was 17 and my boyfriend at the time (husband now) went with me, and immediately the doctor was like, "No, it's Morphea, it's fine and it may even go away on it's own at some point." 10 MINUTES! 10 minutes to tell me that, for the last 2 years of my life, I was worried about nothing. Morphea is basically a non-life-threatening strain of scleroderma. I was angry that I had spent 2 years of my life worried, but I was relieved that this wasn't something I would ever have to worry about again. It was a life changer, literally, but the depression never went away.
This blog is a little bit about my history, and a lot a bit about mental illness, at least what I know about it, and there's a chance that no one will ever read this, but I hope that if you do, and you suffer with mental illness, it reminds you that you are not alone.
My mental illness is not me, it is a separate entity within me. The same goes for you.
Depression is a dark, evil monster. It can drag you down to places you had no idea existed. On those days, when I can't get out of bed, it's because I'm trying to claw my way out of my own personal hell, and my anxiety is telling me I'm not strong enough.
Anxiety. Oh, gosh. Honestly, neither anxiety or depression is worse than the other. They are holding hands and giggling at me, as I slowly drop into a deep dark MENTAL BREAKDOWWWWWNNNNNN. I said that the way that Bill Nye would emphasize something, because not even mental illness can take away my sense of humor!
Growing up, I witnessed my mother struggle with depression, but I didn't really understand it, nor did I understand that I was struggling with it. I was a teenager who got picked on, of course I had some depression. That's natural, right? Apparently, for some people, it's not. As the years went on, I started to realize that it wasn't just a teenage phase. As I grew older and my issues became more "adulty" I realized that I was dealing with a bigger issue.
When I was 17, I was misdiagnosed with a rare disease, which ultimately led me to believe that I was dying. It was a really scary time in my life and I was really depressed. When I was 11, I got into a bicycle accident and it left a strange bruise on my stomach that just never went away. At first, I was told it was a chrome tattoo from flipping over the handlebars on my bike. Turns out, in order to get a chrome tattoo, you have to have skin to chrome contact, which would have meant I would have had to have been riding around a school, at the age of 11, which no shirt on. I can promise you, I was not doing that. So, I ignored it, until I was 17 and I was seeing a doctor that I thought would maybe be able to get me real answers. After a biopsy, the doctor called and had my mom and I come in to talk to her about my results. If that doesn't already scare you, I don't know what will. As we sat down, she informed me that it was Scleroderma, also known as a hardening of the skin due to a trauma to the area. She then informed me that I needed to make sure it didn't spread, and if it did, I needed to be in contact with her because it could also spread to and harden the skin around my organs, which would then fail. WHAT IS A 17 YEAR OLD SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THAT INFORMATION?!?!?!?!
I watched my body very carefully over the next couple of years, and eventually started noticing some more bruising popping up that wasn't going away, so I decided to get an appointment at OHSU in Portland (which, for a small town girl OHSU and the sky tram are terrifying). By the time I got in to see a doctor, I was 17 and my boyfriend at the time (husband now) went with me, and immediately the doctor was like, "No, it's Morphea, it's fine and it may even go away on it's own at some point." 10 MINUTES! 10 minutes to tell me that, for the last 2 years of my life, I was worried about nothing. Morphea is basically a non-life-threatening strain of scleroderma. I was angry that I had spent 2 years of my life worried, but I was relieved that this wasn't something I would ever have to worry about again. It was a life changer, literally, but the depression never went away.
This blog is a little bit about my history, and a lot a bit about mental illness, at least what I know about it, and there's a chance that no one will ever read this, but I hope that if you do, and you suffer with mental illness, it reminds you that you are not alone.
My mental illness is not me, it is a separate entity within me. The same goes for you.
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