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Ruby's Story(The names of the people writing the story have been changed for privacy) The purpose of this website is to let people know that recovery from mental illness IS possible. I know it is possible because I have been recovering over the last 16 years. I will try to keep this as brief as possible, because I am not writing a book. I will try to stick to the basics of my story. Recovery is different for each person. I used to think if I worked and had a family of my own and was "normal" in comparison to general society, I would be "recovered". For me now, the mere fact that I am sitting here writing this at all is a testimony of hope. My own personal definition of recovery is different than in my earlier years. As I write this, I am 39 years old. I was 23 when my world, or THE world, as I knew it, collapsed. It was as if an earthquake had happened, and I had no foundation. I was serving in the military, and during my enlistment, I developed the habit and the addiction to alcohol. After five years, drinking and having blackouts every time was normal to me. However, it was not normal even to those who had been seasoned in their years of service. I simply was unfit and unreliable. I showed up 3 1/2 hours late to work one day. For whatever reason, I was given a second chance. I promised it would not happen again. It did - a week later, I was three hours late again. I was removed from my duties at that time, restricted, and was waiting to be sent to a six week treatment center. That in itself, was another gift. I could have received much more severe punishment, including dishonorable discharge. After a period of perhaps 2-4 weeks, I began to experience a "high". It was as if I was "full of energy", and I wanted to "share it with everyone else". I would call my brothers and other family members and friends up long distance, and just talk, talk, talk. My oldest brother described to my mother that it seemed like I was on drugs. I wasn't, and I was stone cold sober. Then, one day after being up all night and "journaling" (I was unable later to decipher what I had written), I went to the substance abuse class I had to attend, refusing to wear my uniform. I was in civilian clothes. That, in itself, was an "unauthorized absence" as I was not showing up for duty. I argued with the instructor and became more and more agitated until I went outside and began screaming. The next thing I know, the military police were there. I was escorted with one on each side to the psychiatric unit of the hospital. I was angry. I became angrier each time the psychiatrist came in and asked "how do you feel?". I would reply by "how do YOU feel?" Everything was sterile and white. The next thing I know, due to my combative behavior, I was strapped and injected with psychotrophic medications. This was horrible - the haldol and thorazine had tremendous side effects. My brain didn't work, I could barely move, but I could not sit still. I did not begin to get better until my mother flew from home and stayed for a couple of weeks and I followed her around in circles as she would walk with me. It was at this time observed that my diagnosis was "manic depressive" or more commonly known, bipolar disorder. It was only the beginning of something I would need to continue to battle. My most recent hospitalization was last summer. So to say I am "recovered" would be misleading. And to tell you my entire story would take too much time. The basic cycle of this disorder for me begins with "mania". I feel really good, and I can be so humorous. I will talk to anybody and everybody. My behavior gets a bit reckless. Then, as that winds down, usually after a couple of weeks, paranoid delusions set in. Terrifying, out of this world paranoid delusions that make me unable to sleep or function. The best way to describe it is a nightmare during waking hours. I usually will finally check in to the hospital if my Mother is unable to get me stabilized through routine of eating properly, sleeping properly, making sure I am taking medications on time and limiting my alcohol and caffeine consumption. It takes much coercion on her part to get me to go to the hospital. If I go beyond the paranoid delusion stage, I am left with extreme and hopeless depression. I can't even bear to describe it. I have tried to take my own life at least four times. The last time was six years ago and near fatal. I believe God let me live, because instead of collapsing in the house, I made it outside, and the neighbors called the ambulance. While my life was saved, inside I still felt dead. However, while in the hospital, I found that helping out with activities for the older folks in the hospital during their recreation therapy really helped ME. We played cards and games, and I would serve refreshments. I felt needed and useful. And to me, that is the number one thing. I need to have an activity where I feel I make a difference to someone, no matter how small. I now have a volunteer job I do two or three days a week, I attend AA meetings, church, and see a therapist privately as well as now am in a group therapy class for a while. I went to community college years ago. After nine years, I ended up getting an associate degree in general studies, by accident. I have done some things in my life, but I am pretty much an underachiever. I get overwhelmed easily. I hardly keep my house clean. I get tired really easily, I don't accomplish much, "in comparison". But I want to live. Each day brings me something good, whether it be seeing my Mom, a relative, a friend, reading a Bible verse or an inspirational verse or just a good book or a laugh... so many different things are good. Although my struggles aren't everybody's struggles, they are just different struggles. Everyone has struggles. Even if a person seems to "have it all", it's just not possible to get through life without some pain, frustration and grief. I used to just wish I could be somebody else, anybody else, but now I just want to be me. I want to get even better. |
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Recovery Models n Definitions n Barriers to Recovery n Recovery Tools n International Recovery Awareness
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