I never used drugs. iI neve even drank. Not all people with mental illness do.
Same as Swot.
I should say though, that I did experiment with different types of drug as a teenager but, experimentation is as far as it ever went. I didn't continue to use them. I never got hooked. I never fiend for them. I never desired them. I don't like alcohol. Rarely ever drank, or drink alcohol.
However, I will say this, for as severe as my bipolar was and still is, I did seriously ponder at times how I coped with my illness without any illegal substances. I can
completely understand why one would turn to drugs battling this illness but I don't really fully understand why I did not turn to drugs for relief, for as much as I suffered. There are a few reasons that I can come up with for sure....
A little back history-
I was diagnosed and well versed in mental illness at a very young age when most grown adults at that time, never even heard of terminology that I grew and learned having been a child of someone who was severely mentally ill. My poor mother. Ravaged by mental illness. At a young age, and especially as a teenager, I knew deep down it was going to happen to me. I wanted to be stronger than then my mother. I wanted to conquer it. Even though I was very knowledgable in our specific brand of mental illness by living it, studying it and analyzing it so very deeply, I was still very naive (what do you expent, I was still young) and hopeful as a kid, teen and young adult. I thought I could over come it and by myself. On my own....... and that line of thinking turned out to be very dangerous for my life and I suffered many hardships by thinking I could overcome it by myself....... Anyway, I digress. There is a point to this. My point is I thought doing drugs or alcohol was an easy way out. I didn't want to be weak and I thought turning to something else like drugs was weak. I did know that any escape was just temporary. That I did know. I just wanted to be strong and deal with my reality, live in it the best way that I could and to not try to escape because I knew,
I knew, that this was going to be with me forever and I thought I better learn to deal with it now because I didn't want to lose my daughter, I didn't want go to prison and I didn't want to wind up dead because of drugs or alcohol. My daughter only had me. I knew this was going to be a life long struggle and I didn't want to make my situation worse than it already was and was going to be.
Did not being on drugs or drinking help me any? I really wish with everything inside of me that I could say tell you yes,
but no, no it didn't. I'm very sorry to say. Bipolar/mental illness was a way bigger monster than I ever imagined. Saying I underestimated this monster's strength was an understatement of the century. My life was still wrecked and I still acted erratically, even though I was on no substances what so ever. It caused a lot of damage. It caused me and my family and most of all, my beautiful daughter a lot of misery. I had many, many problems because of it, nevermind the PTSD from what I suffered as a child/teen being sexually abused by a few different men and other traumatic experiences that I had gone thought but that is a story for another day.
Not that it really means anything, it certainly didn't mean anything back then, especially to anyone....but
I did try. I gave it my all, all of my guts, over and over and over again to the 10th power to over com it all.
I. Just. Kept. Failing.
I kept losing it all, what little I did have, time and time again. On the outside it was beyond devestating that others couldn't see ..... the deep cave abyss climbing back out of, nail and finger broken and bloodied, battleing every single scary and strong demon on the way back up, fighting with everything I had, everyday...... just to be somewhat......functioning. And if I did make some progress in way, shape or form, it was always interupted by my mania or just bad luck. I can say nothing is more defeating then fighting like hell every single day, every minute, every second of the day and no one can see it. Not being able to see the fruits of your own fight. That is always a hard, hard blow everytime I think about it, especially when it was happening. It's a very devestating thing. Everything that I worked so hard for. Think how that must have felt being a single mother to a my beautiful beloved child. It was excrutiating and no one in my family cared. Even though my mother was clearly sick, because she was worse than I, they still "blamed us" for it. I was alone in this fight and got kicked down by many every step of the way.
It all came to a crashing end when at early 30 something years old, I had a complete nervous breakdown that landed me into the mental hospital. It lasted 10 and a half months. The torture I went through was unfathomable. I understood,
truly understood, then, why people killed themselves. Not because they wanted to die, but because they wanted to escape the sheer pain of it all of whatever it was they were going through. It is unending and relentless. It was like living every second of every day with hot iron pressing on your very soul and with an iron hand gripping your chest so hard that never let up, you can't breath, this non-stop, continous feeling, for 10 and a half months. It was unrelentless. It was the most scariest, most terrifying, most petrifying time of my life and my body shook the entire time, trembled with fear. I got called "crazy". The reason I didn't take my life is because my daughter's father took his and I didn't want her to experience another parent losing their life to suicide. Finally, after 10 and a half months and a series of different medications and also a seperate miracle happening, the worst of it finally broke and I had to pick up the pieces and accept my new reality. Was it new? I don't know, but I had to accept it. But I got stronger over the years and doing better now. Medication really helped contribuate to saving my life but it took forever to find the right medicine, it really did. Even though I was prescribed every single drug for mental illness in the book since teenagehood, I was anti-medication the whole time before my nervous breakdown, so I never stuck with any medication. I was pretty unmedicated the entrie time. Not only was I anti-illegal drugs, I was anti-
any drugs. I didn't want the crap in my body. I thought I could deal with it on my own. Well, we all see how that turned out. But I don't want to mislead. Medication is not the save all, end all, be all. Not by a long shot. I did have a miracle that happened simultaneously that helped
a lot that took the much stress off my shoulders at the time, that in turned, helped me get better. That miracle and the medication combined together broke that horrific spell. I needed both equally.
Anyway, another reason why I didn't do drugs or drink is because it always made me feel sick in some type of way. So that really helped keep me away from drugs and alcohol as well.
Didn't mean to write a book, but there it is. I guess you just can't compact some explantions into three little sentences. At least, I never had the talent for that any way. At the very least, hopefully my story helps someone along the way.