I never accepted it for a long time. I thought I could think myself back into my former self. I thought I took a wrong turn somewhere in my head when I was thinking and if I could get back there, I could repair the damage.
Then, I thought that I had created some big faux pas in the Universe and this was my punishment. Yes, I am very melodramatic, especially when I'm ill. I thought I was possessed for a time and at first I thought I was a medium. That the voices were dead people passing through me. I thought I had a direct connection to the spirit world. I mean, who thinks they have a mental illness, especially schizophrenia with mood swings.
My symptoms were very real to me for a very long time. I always thought people could read my mind and for some reason this terrified me so much, I didn't want to go outside the house. My father got exasperated with me because this went on for decades. However, very early on he told me that I could either force myself to go outside the house or sit there with him for the rest of my life. I feared being an adult child that lived at home all their lives more than I feared people. This was the first inkling of acceptance.
To me, if you accept something, then you take responsibility for it. You either try to change it or you live with it. But, it is your choice, your responsibility and no one else can carry the blame. I was ten years into the illness when I was able to begin bearing that load. It was said by someone that mental illness is not for sissies. I wrote a poem saying it was a bitch; a thing that tried to take the very air you breathe. But if you could just get a breath once in a while, that's heaven. Now, I own my illness and the pains that come along with it. I just take it as spiritual challenges and growth. But then, I'm a poet.
But, don't get me wrong, it's no cake walk. Even when you find the right combination of medications (which I have entitled russian roulette, only instead of one bullet there is only one chamber empty), there is no guarantee how long that combination will last. There is always the threat of a relapse looming over your head. I had been stable for almost five years and recently had a delusional episode. I was out of reality for three days. I did some things I was embarassed about. But luckily, after a while I realized that I was not "right" and met with my doctor who increased my dose on one of the anti-psychotics that I take.
Yes, I take two anti-psychotics, two anti-depressants and a mood stabilizer. And, I'm quite lucid thank you. Which let's me know that I need it all.
So now, I have learned to accept myself warts and all. I keep aiming for goals. When I don't reach them, I cry like I'm over my mother's grave. But then, I pick myself up and start on another one with the help of family and the two friends I've managed to keep.
Right now, life is good. I am working on a goal to get to Atlanta with a two year time frame. So far, I haven't been blocked. I'll tell you all about it another time. By the way, I live in central New Jersey.
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