My Mental Health Journey
Hangs in the room where I took my psychoeducation classes at RMH
This is my very first blog post, and if you had asked me 5 months ago, or even 2 weeks ago if I was wanting to write a blog, the answer would be a hard no. I was nowhere near in the mental space to do so. But I do like writing - it helps me get all my feelings out, or some other cliche. In all seriousness, I just started Girl, Stop Apologizing by Rachel Hollis this morning (if you've never heard of her, 1 look her up, and 2 buy her books), and it inspired me to do something that I feel deep down inside I am meant to do but have never given myself permission to do. This will likely be the longest blog post I ever write, but I also think it will be the most important.
So here I am. For the past ~6 months, my life has been a roller coaster. In fact, if I'm being honest, the past 26 years have been an emotional roller coaster for me. You see, until 2 weeks ago, every single day felt like an uphill battle. I have suffered with anxiety since I can remember. And not just the type of anxiety where a person gets a little stressed out when they have to try something new or have a lot on their plate... the type of anxiety that completely consumes every aspect of your being. The type of anxiety where you wake up with butterflies in your stomach that don't go away until you go to sleep at night. The type of anxiety where going anywhere or doing anything causes you panic. And forget trying something new or something out of your rigid routine. Coupled with that, I also suffer with depression. And I know what you're probably thinking... Morgan? Depression? But you're always so bright and cheery! That's right, I am... I hide my depression well. Those who are closest to me know how much I struggle. They see that I blame myself for everything and nothing I do seems good enough. They see that I cry over the most insignificant things and have more down days than good, especially when the littlest thing goes wrong. There are a thousand other ways my anxiety and depression ruled my life. And that, my friends, is an exhausting way to live.
Last October, after I lost my second baby (this will likely be the topic of my next post), I went into an extremely dark place. Nothing felt right. Ever. Everything was overwhelming and confusing, and the counseling I was receiving was not sufficient for my need according to the counselor herself. You see, if you have a mental illness or know anyone who does, you know that mental health professionals are few and far between... especially affordable ones... in small towns. There is ONE free counselor in my area. O N E. Ugh. I am blessed to have a program through my work which provides counseling services, but one of the counselors was not a good fit for me, and it was the other who told me that I needed more help than she could give me.
So I had to make a decision. I knew I couldn't wait 6 months for a referral to a psychologist or a psychiatrist, so I made one of the hardest decisions I have ever made in my life and checked myself into the mental health unit at RMH. I knew that was the only way I could get help quickly and get on proper meds that didn't take 6+ months to titrate up to a proper dose. This was literally terrifying. I started by phoning the unit to find out the process, and I was informed that I would have to intake through emerg. That first night, I wasn't ready... I simply went to emerg to speak to the crisis nurse, (who is available 24/7, by the way). She was wonderful. She explained the process to me, so I went home and came back the next evening on her shift with my bag packed. I was alone and scared, and I felt extremely vulnerable, but I needed to do this.
One day, in another post, I will go into detail about my stay in the inpatient unit, but for now I will just say that this is the best decision I have ever made in my life. And I mean ever. I stayed 5 nights at RMH, and there, I was put on proper medication while monitored 24/7, I saw a psychiatrist every single day, and I was enrolled in psychoeducation classes as my psychiatrist believes that medication alone is not the solution (I strongly believe this too). Once the 5 days were up, I was able to go home, but I enrolled myself in the outpatient day program, which is a 6-week program that includes two 2-hour psychoeducation classes per day. I was also matched with a counselor, who has become one of the most important people in my life, and I left with a follow-up appointment with my psychiatrist. I felt so taken care of and supported.
I quickly came to love the psychoeducation classes at the hospital (that's the psychology nerd in me), which I attended morning and afternoon Monday-Thursday each week. I was also working all my regular shifts at work, so life got a bit chaotic. Thankfully, being busy benefitted me during that period of my life. I also saw my counselor once a week and my psychiatrist once a month. I am actually just finishing up my second round of the classes (you can take each one two times per year), and I have never felt better in my life.
The key here has been GOOD therapy and medication. Unfortunately, up until 2 weeks ago, I still felt off. Though I know I have made strides in my healing, every day still felt like an emotional rollercoaster... I couldn't figure it out. I was doing all the things and still not feeling my best. What was wrong with me?? Then my psychiatrist said the words that had crossed my mind several times in the last few months but I never really thought were true... "Morgan, I think this is more than GAD... I think you may have a mild form of bipolar disorder, and I'd like to try you on a new medication which will quickly let me know if this is the case."
It all made sense, but at the same time, I fell apart. Was all the progress I had made actually some part of a manic episode? This was my first thought as I left my counselor a teary message on the phone explaining how this potential diagnosis had destroyed me. I sat with my psychiatrist's words over the weekend while carefully observing my body's reaction to the new medication, and by Monday, all doubt was gone. I knew I was doing my best and this diagnosis would not define me. I would not let the stigma surrounding bipolar disorder define me. I have worked too hard to get where I am today to let this destroy me. I think it's safe to say the medication is working...
The moral of the story is that the last two weeks of my life (since starting my new medication), I have thought more clearly and more rationally than I ever thought was possible for me. I jokingly texted my best friend the other day and said "Is this what it's like to be normal?!" You see, I was doing all I could to get better. I was enough. But the medication was not quite what it needed to be. And it still might not be (though I feel absolutely amazing). The moral of the story here is: If you feel deep down inside that something is not right, pursue it. I knew that even by taking my regular medication for anxiety and depression, I felt better, but not my best. I knew something was off. And I think my psychiatrist has nailed it - I have bipolar disorder. But bipolar disorder does not have me.
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