teacher

Story topics: mother, NAMI, psychosis, recovery, teacher

In 1994, I was a mother of two, a Montessori teacher, and writer who was suddenly thrust into a world of psychosis. I was a trained therapist who became an incoherent stranger to herself and a devoted wife who separated from my husband overnight and had two affairs that were as brief as my manic episode of that time. Mine has been a journey of forbidden happiness, grandiosity, paranoia as well as delusions, and at its worst, nearly fatal suicide attempts. When I was 34 I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and had a psychotic breakdown to a non-functioning state.

It took me thirteen years of treatment, education, and faith in mental heath professionals to reach stability and face my mental illness head on. As of this writing, I am on recovery and committed to working with NAMI as a Stigma Buster, a presenter for a program called In Our Own Voice. I hope to offer hope to those who live in the shadows of mental illness by helping erase the faceless anonymity of bipolar disorder. All my writings have the same purpose and both my poetry and prose speak of the struggles but also of the gains of suffering from a mental illness.

People Say I’m Crazy is an inspiring movie who certainly helps people who are having difficulty accepting their diagnosis or who have lost faith that they can reach stability. Families who travel this arduous road will benefit from this masterpiece, which should also appeal to anyone searching for information and enlightment on mental illness and its recovery process.

- From a writer in Los Angeles
Story topics: Doctor, friend, mother, schizoaffective, teacher, voices

I am still in the throes of the illness at age 46.  I was diagnosed with the schizoaffective disorder in 1999.  As early as five I heard voices.  I didn't speak in school, teachers hated me.  We moved every year to make matters worse.  My parents we missionaries, we moved to South America and were thrown into another culture. I have struggled with depression all my life.  I can't remember a time when I haven't been depressed.  My home life was pretty unhappy also.  

When we returned to the USA in 1977, I began self mutilate.  It was the only way I could release the pain I felt inside. I was bottled up inside, the voices were unusually mean and a torrent of insults everyday.  The teenage years were hard enough, along with the voices.  My mother was pretty abusive.  

I struggled through high school, an athlete.  In college,   I ended up for the first time in the hospital.  I have since had six stays. (I must say to finish college...SC Rehabilitation helped me finish college, art school for that matter).

I married a stable man, for that reason.  My home life growing up, had never been stable.  I've had five children, (I got on medication) had years of therapy, since THEN I've home schooled for fifteen years.  I'm currently applying for an assistants job at a Kindergarten in a local school.

My outside face is OK.  Inside, the voices I hear are tormenting me now....and I'm struggling. I put one foot in front of the other.  I have "two rooms" I go into during the day.  One is an outside face one where I face the world "NORMALLY".  The other is my "safe room," It is where my mind goes for safety, in the midst of the  "noise."    

- Mom in South Carolina