Mental Illness Crushed My Dreams

As a kid I had my future planned out. I would graduate high school, go to college, graduate college, work on and achieve a doctorate, and get a job helping others in the field of psychology.

I never even thought that my depression would get as bad as it has. I never thought the person I would be having to help would end up being myself, and I definitely never thought that mental illness would get in the way of my dreams.

I did manage to graduate high school early. After getting expelled from two traditional high schools, I did graduate from an alternative high school. Alternative school was not in my plan, but hey, I got my diploma. Shortly after graduating high school I got myself into a very expensive private college, where my tuition didn't cost me anything out of pocket and I lived on campus. Things seemed to be going pretty much as planned.

All through high school I was depressed and dealing with self harm, and it just got worse in college. My fear of people got worse. I lived in a tiny room with a complete stranger (who turned out being pretty awesome) shared a bathroom that never seemed to stay clean, and had to choose between passing grades or adequate sleep. Things went downhill quite fast.

I was almost constantly in a psychiatric hospital. My meds were always being changed. Traditional talk therapy just wasn't working anymore. My cutting had gotten out of control and I didn't care to hide it anymore. Then in an abnormal psych class I learned about Borderline Personality Disorder. I brought the diagnosis to my psychiatrist and he agreed I fit the criteria. At that point I thought for sure I would get better. Now that we knew what I was dealing with there had to be some form of medication combination that would fix it.

I was wrong.

Little did I know that BPD meant hardcore therapy because there are no medications for it. This therapy is called Dialectical Behavioral Therapy. This therapy would take 1 hour of individual therapy, 2 and a half hours of group therapy, and hours of homework each week. This therapy in itself took more time than school did.

Shortly after that I got kicked out of the school I was attending. I moved back home with my mom and I started this new therapy. Things were a roller coaster, and they added rapid cycle bipolar to my list of disorders. New meds were started and I thought I was getting better. I wasn't.

Then, after a long series of events that I may get into in another post when I'm not super tired and being sedated by my nighttime medications. I decided to put actual work into the DBT therapy.

I saw changes...slowly but surely I was getting better.

Then more things that I had little to no control over happened and I found myself in the middle of Detroit in a homeless shelter. I was no longer able to do my DBT.

Then after a few months in the shelter I was hospitalized yet again. That was a year ago today. I got out 21 days later on January 3, 2014. I did not live in the best situation and was emotionally and verbally abused.

Then more things out of my control happened and I ended up back at home with my mom. I immediately got back on meds, got a job, and got back into DBT. I was doing better, again.

Then, I moved across country from Michigan to Idaho. I have no insurance and am not getting DBT. I did manage to transfer my job out here. I am not going to say much about how I am treated or where I work because this is public and I do not want to risk losing my only source of income.

As I said in the post before this one things are very difficult here. Luckily my mom is putting me on her insurance so I can get meds, a psychiatrist, and proper therapy.

My whole point of all of this is that my friends are graduated from the same college I got kicked out of. They have their bachelors degree, and I have 5 failed years of college and nothing but student loans to show for it.

Where is my diploma for being stable this long through everything that has been thrown at me? Even in substance abuse programs they give out keychains and things for milestones. I have been out of the hospital for almost a year and I have nothing to show for it except for the fact that I am still alive.

Very few people appreciate the effort it takes to keep myself alive. Very few people hear my reason of mental illness and understand.

Many more people say I'm lazy. That I don't want a degree. That I don't want to work hard enough to do anything with my life. Those people don't realize that I work a full time job of not killing myself. Of recovering.

I have no more dreams. Those were taken from me by mental illness.

I am going to focus on me, and I am going to get well.

Maybe, once I'm well, I can make new dreams. Or maybe I can rekindle the old ones.

Only time will tell.

xoxoxo