DISCLAIMER: After the FBI contacted us regarding the following post, we took it down. This is a re-post of what posted on December 18th, 2012. This is not to be considered a threat, but a literary exercise, where an often overlooked voice is given a voice. Read about what the FBI said here.
Over the weekend, a mother of a mentally ill child, as well as a psychiatrist of mentally ill patients wrote about the experiences they had in dealing with mentally ill people. They both, however failed to truly identify with those who are mentally ill.
Unlike both of them, I have been diagnosed as mentally ill by more than a dozen doctors.
There are good days and bad days. Hell, who I am kidding, there are good moments and bad moments, in every day.
There are moments when the world does seem to make sense, where I seem a part of it. There are moments when I feel like I a part of something great. For instance, just today, I got to take part in a volunteer appreciation party for helping youth who are gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender. When I am on top of things, I am really on top of things.
I once ran for office. When I started the ambitious quest, I thought I could do anything. My doctors would later call this a manic episode, and instead of offering my advice in toning down my ambitions, they would just listen to my manic self, talk about all the things I had planned. They were tenfold.
That went well, enough, for awhile. I certainly pissed off enough people in the process. But when it came to gathering signatures, I was terrified of knocking on doors. I don’t know what happened. There was moment in my life where I could talk to anyone. Where I could give speeches in front of thousands of people. I have done it before.
But that moment passed. It faded away into a place where all I did was watch movies, smoke some weed and sleep. I slept ten, twelve, sixteen hours a day.
I have tried to kill myself more times than I can count. The first time I tried I was sixteen and took eight Aspirin. It did nothing, and after I woke up the next morning, I was pissed, and took that anger out on my family. There are more holes in the doors to my house than I can even explain. I once even overdosed on Tylenol PM. I woke in the hospital after being in a coma for three days, and was mortified. Instead of thinking, like my doctors say I should “thank God I failed” – I remember thinking “what the hell did I do wrong?” I took the whole bottle after all.
There are moments in my life where I cannot describe why I did what I did. Like the time I picked up the cement curb that had come undone in front of my mothers house and attempted to throw it at her. My mind wasn’t working then. My emotions, however, were on overload.
I remember being angry. So angry. I just wanted to smash her car window or her face as much as I felt like she had smashed my wishes and my dreams. It seemed, then anyway, like it was the end of the world. It was all or nothing. It was now or never.
I remember the car accident I got into once when I was in a manic episode while on Meth. I was driving, feeling on top of the world. Certainly, I wanted another hit of Meth, but I was cruising for one. So close I could taste it. There was a car stopped in front of me, and thought I knew I could brake, something inside of me – my emotions, made me not want to. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. There was no way I could hit them, I remember thinking. I would just miss them, barely. Like a sick game of Russian roulette, where I would dodge the car, but barely.
I tried. And like the many times I tried to kill myself, I failed. I did hit them.
There are moments where I am completely wrapped up in my own brain. Where I am on top of the world, able to do anything, or at least thinking I can. Like today, I signed up to volunteer more than I probably can, but I am in one of those phases, one of those seasons.
And then there are moments where I can’t do a thing. Where I go from being happy and on top of the world to being sad, and unable to get out of bed. Those are the days I stay in. The days I cry in bed after watching a Harry Potter movie, or Lord of the Rings. The days where I read the news and cannot imagine life any harder. Those are the days I wish I were dead. Those are the days I try to be dead.
In between, however, are the moments I am violent. I know those moments come and go; the smart, thoughtful side of me knows about them (thankfully, I am in one of those states now) but the emotional parts of me cannot seem to shake them. I find myself short fused, where everything in personal, where everything makes me upset, where I am always left out and always the problem.
For instance, I remember high school, towards the end of my senior year, where I was convinced everyone hated me and everyone was out to get me. There were all talking about how I was gay, and made fun of me because of it. Looking back, the brain side of me knows there was no way everyone was talking about me. I simply wasn’t that popular. But tell that to my emotional side and I simply would not have it.
I generally think there are two sides of me, the side who thinks and the side who feels. The one who thinks is a genius. That’s the one who has won awards for writing and once worked three jobs. And then there is the other side. The one I hate. The one who feels and is an emotional wreck. Rarely do those two sides come together to create a balanced me. Of all the drugs I have been on, from Lithium to Depakote to Seroquel, not one of them addresses the thinking side. They each kill my emotions. Make me sleep. And the brain side of me is too terrified to do let my emotions go. I tend to tell myself that I wouldn’t be me without my emotions. And as I gay guy, I know I am right. That’s why I stopped taking them altogether.
No one, except those who are mentally ill, truly know what I go through. From being a genius to a possible killer all in a day.
It’s exhausting, terrifying and probably the reason why I have abused more drugs than I wish to share. Few people can truly say what its like to know that you’re just one bad day, on just the right day, from shooting up a school and killing twenty. That terrifies me, and should probably terrify you as well.