Psych Hold

As a smart, pretty successful, giving person with a serious mental illness, I feel like it is my responsibility to advocate for those who aren’t as lucky as I.  And most of the time I wouldn’t say I’m lucky.  It is HARD to have a serious mental illness.  There are not a lot of good days. I long to be married. I long to be a mom.  I long to do the jobs I so painstakingly trained for.  I long to volunteer for the organizations that captured my heart when I was younger.  I long to live in my house and be able to take care of myself.  But none of those are possible…well the house one is, but not yet.  But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a good life.

Bipolar and OCD do not define me.  They are a huge part of me.  They affect my life in ways that you can’t even begin to imagine, but they do not define me.

I have a lot of great skills, and more and more organizations are recognizing them and using me in ways that I can make a difference.  I am working on websites, I am writing articles, I am motivating people that are doing jobs I can’t do.  I am speaking out, and I will never stop.

The meme at the top of the page makes me furious.  The person who wrote it has clearly never been in a 72 hour psych hold.  They don’t know that they take everything you own.  That you are on a strict schedule and eat and sleep when they tell you to.  That you stand in a line to get your medicine each day…often several times a day.  That a doctor who you have never met is in charge of your medicines and often makes changes that are detrimental to your health and you have to start over when you go home.  That there are patients there who’s mental illnesses have made them angry and violent, so you get scared and sometimes run to your room for safety.  That 72 hours almost never happens…try two weeks.  That it is incredibly expensive and you will be making payments for two to three years because you are likely on disability, aka poverty.  That you don’t get to have your phone and only get to speak to all the people you love in a ten-minute period three times a day on a wall phone.

Don’t speak about what you don’t know.

So, I’m asking, if you care about me.  If you care about someone else with a mental illness.  If you care about people in general.  Don’t share this post.  Don’t like it. Don’t love it.  Tell the person who posted it why it’s not okay.  That is the first step to advocacy, and it would mean a lot to me.

I have a sense of humor, I absolutely do, but this is not funny.  Hospitals are traumatizing, and have literally given me PTSD, and just should not be joked about it.

It’s hard to have a serious mental illness.  Every day.  But we keep fighting.  We keep fighting, and we just don’t need a step backward.  So if your life is a little easier, or even if it’s not, please help me fight.  You never know whose life you will change.  Thank you