On Board

...the patio fascia board. Try expanded view.

I've finally finished and just submitted the following article to the newspaper.  Now I can get some sleep.  Whatcha think?

Sharing a Journey (Final Draft)
(611 words, edited from the first draft of 924 )

One day in August 1982, my best friend said she couldn’t help me anymore, that I needed to seek help.  So began my life-long journey through the maze and haze of living with mental illness and addiction.

Since 1949, Mental Health Awareness Month has been observed in the United States with organizations around the country fighting stigma and promoting awareness of depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia and anxiety disorders.  Seventy years later, progress has been slow to come.

After receiving my friend’s push, I was diagnosed with major depression and took three weeks off.  I always saw my parents after work but I was so ashamed that I dragged myself out of bed, dressed for work and visited them as normal.

Merriam-Webster defines stigma as a mark of shame, disgrace[...].  A negative stereotype, it takes away from a person’s character or reputation. The fear of that stain is often what keeps those who need help from seeking it. It also contributes to some families’ denial that a loved one (especially a child) needs help.  Mental illness is not a result of bad parenting. Too often we hear from parents after a suicide or other tragic event that they knew something was wrong but did nothing to intervene.

Two years after my initial diagnosis, I relocated thinking a change in job and geography would “fix” me. Initially, I enjoyed success as a middle school math teacher, HS coach and three-term union president.  I stopped drinking, which I had been doing heavily from an early age and continued seeing a doctor.  He began to over-prescribe Xanax and I suffered what was probably an inevitable accidental overdose.  I spent 30 days hospitalized for addiction recovery.

Throughout the next decade, my journey was not unlike others whose mental illness is misdiagnosed.  After a revolving door of short- and long-term hospitalizations for treatment of major depression, borderline personality disorder and multiple personality disorder – none of which I had –  an excellent psychiatrist finally put the pieces together.

There are laws now that allow those with any disability, mental or physical, to stay in the workforce and in the jobs for which they are qualified and capable. At the age of 48, it wasn’t to be for me, as ignorance and stigma ended my career.

I have accomplished many things in my life, as a leader in education, athletics and politics. I am generous in my philanthropy and have endowed a scholarship at my alma mater.  I practice random acts of kindness. I still see a psychiatrist to manage my medication and a therapist once a week.  I have many ups and downs and my mood can turn on a dime.  I try hard to be the person society wants me to be, but I am who I am. 

So, why have I penned this? To let readers know that there is life beyond a diagnosis.  That it is not a flaw in character nor something you (or anyone else) did to make you sick.  To let you know that there is help, people with whom to talk. To tell you that if you have a loved one who needs or is getting help, the most important thing you can do for them is to simply be there; you can’t fix them but you can continue to love them. To reassure you that you are not alone. Over 6 million Americans live with bipolar disorder, 16 million with major depression and 42 million with an anxiety disorder. 

Let’s continue the 70-year old stigma awareness and mental illness education conversation and work together to make sure everyone who needs medication, therapy, general medical attention - and hope -  gets it.

Just had to add a punny...
Q: What do you call a lazy kangaroo?
A: A pouch potato.