My dad’s mother was a bipolar drug addict/alcoholic that developed schizophrenia in her later years. She died in her 50’s.
My dads sister also developed schizophrenia, and she was the scariest sight of my childhood.
My mother had amazingly, loving parents. Both were older when they had her, and my grandpa died in his 70’s when I was 8 and a half. He was my best friend in life.
My parents were awesome, but they were very strict due to my mother’s religious raising, and my fathers awful childhood.
One of my dearest friends committed suicide at 12 years old. I was 14.
A few months after her Suicide, we found out our small school was shutting down. the place where my grandparents went in the early 1900’s, both my parents went, and where I called Home.
I suffered through the transition and starting failing my classes on purpose. I was supposed to graduate a year early at my old school. But my new school didn’t accept those extra credits. I hated it there. My anxiety heightened.
By 15, my parents let me homeschool until I was able to get my GED.
This was also the year that I started having an insane pulsing in my stomach. I couldn’t eat much, I couldn’t sleep right. Laying on my back or my stomach was uncomfortable. My thoughts were constantly racing, I was without a doubt depressed and worrisome.
My mother took me to the doctor and just by feeling my stomach, the doctor knew I was experiencing an anxiety disorder. She asked questions, I answered when I could- my mom answered when I was too busy crying.
She explained to my mother and I that the pulsing I was experiencing was the main artery in my stomach. It was overworking itself due to anxiety/constant worry. She told my mother that medicine was something we needed to strongly consider because this issue could lead to a heart attack or stroke. It could lead to seizures in some cases.
My mother was crying, and we started my journey with antidepressants.
This was kept a secret from my father for a few years. He was against medication, and due to his raising- he dismissed mental illnesses all together. Looking back, I know now it’s because it terrified him.
My mom would have to sleep with me and hold me through the night at times. I couldn’t breathe. The anxiety attacks felt never ending.
I didn’t know who I was. I was too busy worrying about anything and everything, I didn’t spend time developing as a teen should. I was stunted.
I had a job steadily since 15. Started really dating at 16.
I was always against any type of drug or alcohol because of my dads family. I mean, I knew what meth was since the time I was 5 just by looking at my grandmother.
But a few weeks before 17, I started smoking pot. And even a bit before that, my cousin and I were stealing beer from my dads cooler and stashing it for the weekends.
By 17 I was spending my time trying to drown out any emotion, any anxiety or depression.
Since I had gotten my GED at 16, my mom was pretty adamant about me jumping in to college and making something of myself. So I signed up for nursing at 17. By the end of the 1st semester I was over it, and switched my major to child development. But I was too busy goofing off and being stupid, that I eventually dropped.
By 19, I was living with a boyfriend that I eventually ended things with while he was off working, hours away. When I told my parents that I was going to move back home, they were sure I was losing my mind and requested that I try therapy.
Therapy wasn’t helpful. My therapist tried making me lists of things I couldn’t bring myself to do, in hopes that I’d battle my anxiety disorders. I couldn’t order my own food through a drive thru, or even pump my own gas because of my social anxiety and my paranoia. There were times I’d have to stop on the side of the road to breathe because the panic attacks were too intense. Her lists just annoyed me so I stopped going.
I fought with my parents because I was mentally ill. By that time I had been through so many trials of antidepressants that I never thought I’d ever find one to actually help me. Most just made me worse. And since I wasn’t going to therapy, it was left up to doctors and nurse practitioners to prescribe me medication.
I moved away from home and was off meds. I lived with “friends” and we spent the majority of our time trying to score drugs. At that point in my life, I didn’t care what it was- I was probably doing it.
Things got pretty rough. The only times we were eating was when we were working at whatever restaurant at the time. Our money was blown by the time we got it, and the bills were piling up. We dispersed our friend group, I came back to my hometown.
Instead of being with my parents, (where I should’ve been) I went to another “friend” group. By this time I was pretty used to just living like a Gypsy and going with the flow. Sleeping on whatever couch, drinking all the time. Mixing the alcohol with whatever drugs we had.
Xanax became a big thing around town and I’d get most of my bars for free. The streets supplied my friends and my friends supplied me. There’s atleast a year of my life that’s nothing but a blur because of that member of the benzo family. To make matters worse, I was trying to better myself & had went to the doctor to try medicine again.
The drugs weren’t helping in the ways I needed. I could drown out the depression for a while, and get black out drunk to escape the anxiety- but the anxiety would always Be right back. It never really left me. It was a lingering stabbing pain in my whole body. So I reached out to the doctors. Ofcourse I didn’t share that I abused drugs at the time. At 20 years old, they prescribed me Xanax, buspar, and ambien.
The buspar made me dizzy. I took the ambien twice and had awful experiences both times before I flushed the bottle. But the Xanax was where I was already suffering. Xanax was the one thing I have ever felt actually addicted to. It got so bad that I eventually moved back home to cry out to my dad for help. I had never been suicidal in my life, but at this point I was desperate. My dad held me and flushed the rest of my pills. After a few weeks, I was okay- and I never touched Xanax, or even another benzo again.
This chapter of my life ended here. I was in the very start of my 20’s, I’m now in my later 20’s. So much growth has blessed my life since my younger days.
Given, this is just a bit of my life. There are stories to be told in between these time frames and after. But this gives you an insight to the life I have lived.
I do believe my life would’ve been different if I would’ve had control of my mental state. For so long I struggled with who I was. I defined myself as my mental illnesses. But through life I found my own growth. I went through these experiences and I learned to take what I had been through and transform myself into someone worth being. There were years that I suffered. I suffered and suffered until I finally had enough. I told myself I wouldn’t suffer anymore and I did all I could to ensure a better mental state for myself.
So I share with you these details, to give you background. In order for you to take my blog seriously, it’s important that I establish who I have been and who I am now. How I have suffered, and how I broke through it. How life has struck me, and I learned to strike back.
Stay tuned for more ❤️