I AM

When I was in my late forties, the men I’d known since childhood began dying – one by one I lost all three of my uncles in a year and a half. Then, in one terrible week, a close childhood friend and my dad (my anchor) both succumbed to cancer. Unable to cope with the enormity of these losses, my mind went spiraling out of control. 

Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, I felt caught up in the eye of a tornado. Everything and everyone seemed to be flying away from me, buffeted by the wind until I was left with only my paranoid psychotic delusions and my dog. For a while, my mind wandered aimlessly trying to find the yellow brick road. Then I gave up, and slept drugged in the valley of the poppies.  

Feelings of hopelessness overwhelmed me, leaving me with no will to live or to die. All of my time was spent lying in bed with mementos of my dearly departed arranged like a halo around my head. I was trying to be close to those who had left, trying to gain comfort from them, but unable to take the necessary steps, unable even to form a plan. 

Waking up slowly, I felt all alone and completely empty. Paranoia gave way to guilt, leaving me feeling unworthy of love. Even though I had given up on life, not everyone in my life had given up on me. A handful of people called often to offer support. My therapist recorded a personal relaxation tape and sent me to a psychiatrist who prescribed the right medications (meds) and tried to give me hope. He saw me pro-bono when I couldn’t pay. A lot of people were actively working for my recovery by sharing their calm acceptance. Unfortunately, I was unable to recognize or feel the support. 

I was wary of everyone, even my mother. And my mom was there for me every step of the way. She took me into her home, drove me to medical appointments and the drug store, paid for my meds, fed me my meds, made my favorite foods, made my bed, and bought me needlepoint kits. When she tried to give me spending money, I felt a small spark of independence and decided to cover some of my own basic expenses: dog food, gas, and cigarettes, which altogether totaled $30.00 a week. It was a modest goal, but a goal none the less. 

Slowly, I started to rebuild my life. Selling pieces of my jewelry collection on eBay led to starting an online bead business. At the same time, I started working on emotional issues – taking my meds, focusing on my psychotherapy, saying affirmations, and playing my hypnosis tape. At first, the affirmations felt like lies. I was telling myself ‘I have an abundance of money,’ while struggling to buy dog food; saying, ‘I have an abundance of love,’ while feeling completely unloved and totally isolated; and parroting, ‘I have a rich and full life,’ while spending all my time staring into space. And, finally, there was the biggest lie of all: ‘only good comes to me and only good goes from me,’ when I felt evil all around and within me.  

It took years, but slowly my efforts bore results. I began to recognize my mother’s love, rejoiced the day I could afford to put a CD player in my car, started listening to music again, told jokes and laughed, and rediscovered the library and reading. I had a good minute, a good hour, a good day, a good week, and a good month. Finally, I had a good year. 

I plodded on, saying my affirmations. ‘Only good comes to me and only good goes from me.’ I learned to forgive myself and others, to accept both strength and weakness in myself and in others. Learning to love myself left me open to loving those around me. A handful of new kind, supportive friends joined a small core of long-time friends and family members. Recognizing the love surrounding me made me feel blessed. My blessings also include an abundance of material things – my monthly retirement check, my own spacious condo, great food, beautiful clothes, and a dependable car.  

And, finally, I now have a full and rich life. My days are filled with things I love: writing, oral storytelling, chocolate, hamburgers, Penn State football, reading mysteries, following sensational jury trials, playing with my dog, watching live theater, designing jewelry, watching old sitcoms, hanging with my boyfriend, laughing with my girlfriends and other things too numerous to mention. The world around me is beautiful even without emerald-colored glasses. 

Now that I am no longer the stereotype of mental illness, I use my voice to fight the stigma. I tell my story to the public, and mentor depressed seniors. When people get to know me, I tell them I have a mental health condition. They are shocked and don’t believe it. They comment on how I seem so emotionally stable and positive. I am emotionally stable and positive – I am many things. I am a 72-year-old single white middle-class woman. I am a second-generation American of Italian descent. I am a daughter, sister, aunt, lover, friend, neighbor, employee, employer, doggie mommy, and volunteer. I am an entrepreneur, jewelry maker, avid reader, published author, trainer, and depression coach. I am intelligent, silly, kind, generous, and loving. I am a peacemaker and a leader. I am creative and innovative. And I am also mentally ill. 

I am grateful for all I am, including, maybe especially, my mental illness. Because of my condition, I am a stronger person, more accepting of others, and less judgmental. I am capable of maneuvering little bumps in the road, bending with the wind, and bouncing back from adversity. I am grateful for the little things in life. I am calmer, more content and just plain happy. To me, living with mental illness is like being in the middle of a sun-drenched, flower-filled meadow after a long harsh winter.