For Mental Health.

I think we are afraid of mental illness. We think we can handle our thoughts, our feelings, our emotions. So we hide them. And they stir within us. And there is this overarching societal pressure to keep it all in and act like you've got it all together. That can lead a person to cope in a number of unhealthy ways that only makes the problem worse. This pressure, and the coping mechanisms I've used to deal with it have gotten me into a very dark place.

Since I was very young, I have experienced a multitude of trauma. And I know what you're thinking-we ALL have. And it's easy to dismiss someone else's trauma because the severity of it is hard to gauge, and it can be hard to understand what it means to them and the ultimate effect it has on their life. So I'm going to open my heart up about the meaning and effect my trauma has had on me.

From birth-16 I was raised in a home with two untreated Bipolar parents who verbally abused each other. Everywhere we lived was short-term because of how many times police complaints were made, and how my much neighbors hated us. This started happening before I was even born. The earliest memory I have of it is between the ages of 2-4, when my parent's argument escalated to the point where my mom shot my dad in the chest with the handgun they kept in the house.  He was hospitalized for some time, had survived, and thereafter stayed married to my mom. Yet he would go on to bring that story up time and again, often pulling out the breathing tube that was used on him to remind us what our mother had done.

Their arguments were bad. I was so constantly surrounded by verbal abuse that it began to become a background noise to me. Sometimes my dad would even bring me into the arguments, belittling me and forcing me to be the final say of what happened in that moment between he and my mom. When he wasn't fighting with her, he would turn his attention to me-telling me I needed to lose weight and that I wasn't pretty/photogenic. Once he spanked me with a belt for accidentally spilling a bag of chips. He would come into my room and kick over the board game my sister and I were playing to yell at us. He didn't know my friends, and never remembered my birthday. He constantly acted out of anger and aggression. His discipline always included yelling and harsh punishment. I had no self confidence and felt no love from him.

And then his step brother molested me. I was around 6-8 years old at the time. My uncle was 14. My dad refused to press charges against his family and convinced my mom to agree. Our grandmother on my dad's side called me a liar and and manipulator. I was in the background. No one cared for my voice.

I was promised that I never had to see him or that grandma again. Then one morning years later, when my parents had been fighting, my dad woke me up and snuck me out of the house. We started driving to an unknown destination. I had stopped asking where we were going after multiple attempts where my dad refused to tell me. Soon the streets we were driving became more familiar. I felt a rush of fear and anxiety overwhelm me. The reality of what was about to happen suddenly dawned on me and I started kicking, screaming and wailing for it to stop.

But it didn't stop. Next thing I knew, we were pulling up to that driveway-the one I thought I would never have to see again . I was told I didn't have to go in, that I could make my own choice and stay in the car. I knew my decision. But even though my dad had given that choice, he worked hard to persuade me otherwise.

I waited alone in the car in what I remember to be the loudest silence I have ever heard, besides my wimpering. Since I refused to be pursuaded to come in my dad brought my grandmother out to me. Fortunately his step brother wasn't home but it didn't stop my dad from bringing out the most recent picture of him as well. In that moment, any trust I had in anyone or anything died. And it's never returned to life.

Then I turned 16. I had just returned from a youth group trip to see my dad had packed a box. I felt relief-the fighting would end. But I wasn't expecting it to turn my world upside down. My dad was offering enticing things-like getting me a car and paying for my insurance if I were to leave with him. To a 16 going on 17 year old, this was hard to pass up. I realized later this would have allowed him to pay less alamony.

But it sounded so good when he was offering this to me again at his new kitchen table in his new two bedroom apartment. I got exited and thought he was really going to try to be there for me. As I shared ideas and plans for the life we could begin to have together, my dad began to tear them apart. He laughed at me in that way he always had-that pat you on the head kind of dismissal, as if all the things I said made me sound like a child dreaming of fairytales. He told me it couldnt be the way I wanted because he was engaged to a woman he worked with. A woman my mom previously accused him of cheating with. It was only three weeks after he had moved out of our home. I'll always wonder if it was less of an accusation and more of the truth.

The ages 16-20 were rough. I was immature, hurt, traumatized and had no experience engaging in any relationships in a healthy way. There are still relationships and people I avoid because of the embarassment I feel due to this behavior I had little control over. The decisions I made and the way I operated at times, and even now, doesn't always make sense to people. Hurt continued to pile on as my naive actions caused me to lose friends and bring tension into the friendships I did have. And the truth is none of those people could have understood my pain.

Then 20-21 came. I had already been living out of the house but returned to my mom's for a summer. My dad was still coming around, knocking down the door and harassing us. He accused my mom of bad-mouthing him and manipulating me so that I didn't want to see him. He was incapable of seeing his faults, his hurtful actions and the responsibility he had in destroying my relationship with him. Truly, I feel bad for him. He'd never gotten help and didn't know how to be a father.

That summer, mom and I did nothing but fight. She took my house key away as punishment. After work, I'd wait for her on the porch to come home and unlock the door. So I retaliated and moved into a friend's in San Diego. I knew it would hurt her and it did. But I was still hurting too and I didn't know how to deal with it.

I got a job, found my own place and started dating someone. The relationship mirrored my parents relationship- accusations and arguments were all I knew. His brother, who was also untreated for Bipolar Disorder, was overly dominant in my partner's life. When he realized he no longer had control of some of his brother's actions, he blamed me. The problem escalated until one day he physically attacked me-punching and kicking me until my partner pulled him off. I proceeded to cut off all communication with him, and his girlfriend.

My boyfriend took my side and did the same. Months later, I was visited by police at my work. My partner's brother had lied on a restraining order to protect his girlfriend who was working on earning her citizenship. I soon had to sit through a court hearing where I was harshly reprimanded by the judge for interfering with her right to seek citizenship. There was no ounce of evidence-no texts, no phone calls, no visits from me-proving I was any sort of a threat. The judge couldn't put the restraining order through even though he told me he wanted to and that if he ever saw me in his court again he would give me the maximum charge. I again had positioned myself among people who couldn't support me, and had exposed myself to more hurt because of it.

A month later, mom was terminal. I left everything in San Diego and moved home to Orange County immediately. A month after that, mom died. I had no job, had dropped out of school and was right back where I started living in what used to be an abusive home. But now I was also mourning the loss of the one parent who showed me unconditional love. Now it was a quiet home-no parents. Just three kids who seemed to have survived the worst storm.

I was still dating my partner. He'd disconnected himself from his brother of his own accord. In the months that followed my mom's death, he chose to stay with me (under the heading that I would never see his brother again), and moved up to Orange County. But soon a side of him started to show that I hadn't seen before-an angry side. He started pushing me around. I sat and took it. This isn't to say I had done nothing wrong myself. But at this point in our relationship, the grief I had over my mom had changed me. I was less angry, less reactive, and more hurt. I prayed God would lead my partner to break up with me because I felt too weak to do it myself. So one day he did. I was again a weak, young woman with no help or support. I was devastated and alone.

Then there was my eating disorder. I have always had an unhealthy relationship with food. When my dad moved out and annouced his plans to re-marry, I plummitted into anorexia. I hid it because I knew no one would notice or understand. I was also cutting myself in high school. This self-mutilation soon gave way to my growing eating disorder. By the time I was 23, I decided to do something about it and entered an out-patient program. I had to attend program every weekday for three weeks, until my insurance dropped me for being at a 'healthy weight'. But the problem hadn't been fixed. Soon the eating disorder would take a backseat to other major mental health problems, but I still deal with this unhealthy relationship with food. I'm better now, but it will always be there.

By 24, I had my assoicates in Liberal Arts and was working and living in LA. I started to mature and wanted a better life for myself. I wanted a different life than what my parents gave me. So I moved to Seattle and continued my career in the child care field. I wanted the chance to be there for kids who were going through the kinds of things I went through-to help them, to show them love, and to teach them all the things they weren't able to learn at home.

The first couple of years in Seattle were incredible. I opened what became a wildly successful child care program and made friends with some solid, amazing humans. All the while I was masking all the trauma and hurt I'd lived my life experiencing. I just wanted to be like them-normal and happy. I couldn't let them see anything else. So I learned how to put a facade on for the rest of the world. I had gotten to the place where the mask was real to me. I found a way to compartmentalize the skills I had learned to be healthy, functional human. All the while spending sleepless nights and long weekends laying on the floor of my living room, too helpless and depressed to function.

Because of the way my parents acted, I have no more family. As a child, I was abandoned by everyone-aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins. No one wanted to be involved in the chaos, and some of them had their own amount of chaos and instability. So while it seemed the thick of the storm had passed, there was no one left to help me pick up the pieces.

But there was still dad and after mom died a bit of a shift started to happen. He still had his old tendencies of yelling and degrading me at times-telling me I was always making all the wrong decisions. But that slowly started to fade. These last two years specifically, we were able to get to a better place. Living in seperate states seems to help keep us from arguing.

And then I told him I was a victim of crime this past year. For my own safety, I won't be able to share more details. Yet that event spiraled me down into a place of fear and depression so deep that since then I have been majorly suicidal. This event was really a big piece of straw that broke the camels back. I kept a lot of details to myself and was fortunate to have the support of a couple of friends. But this incident caused people two close friends to accuse me of lieing and stop talking to me. That's kind of what happens when things get real and vulnerable, isn't it? This produced so much fear in me that I was scared of losing all my relationships. So I pulled away and hid in my dark place, not even leaving my house for months except to work. For me, this was the last reason in a list of many that was proving my life would never get better. It was the last bit of abandonment I could take.

I shared this news with my dad because I had restored faith in him. I have been in the hospital for suicidal ideation twice from the end of October through November, and my ability to put on a happy face and mask the overwhelming effects of my trauma is gone. I have been fragile, unable to get out of bed most days. I needed family and support, even with from little family I had. He didn't know it was that bad, and is in such denial that he still doesn't realize how big his contribution to the problem is.

I've recently posted about my dad on social media and had been grateful for the place we've gotten to. But when I booked a trip to California to receive love and support while on medical leave, he called and verbally abused me. He told me, like he always had, that I was making all the wrong decisions, that I needed to 'smarten up' before I lose my job, that I'm an alcoholic (untrue), and to never ask him for money or help of any kind again.

My sister, because of how she experienced our trauma and is dealing with her own mental health, has blocked my phone number. I can't explain her process or the decisions she makes, and I want to be clear that I love her dearly. Yet I am absolutely devistated. I am an aunt and I've desperately fought to be a part of the kids' lives and now there is a wall that is too tall, too wide, for me to climb to get to them. I feel I am missing what are the precious years of their lives.

For the last year, I have also experienced working in an extremely hostile environment. Directly following this event where I was victimized, a traumatic event also began to happen at my workplace that overwhelmed me. Due to the nature of the situation it is also not safe for me to share details. What I can share is that my ability to work in that environment has been majorly impacted. This has had a dramatic effect on my healing. The one thing that has always been safe, that I have always been good at, is the ability to do my job very well. I need that component to be encouraged of what I'm capable of and at the moment it has been destroyed.

In the years since my chaotic upbringing, I've been wreckless at times. Often thinking only of myself, drowning in my hurt, surrounding myself with people who use me as an object while isolating the people who love and support me. I am still hurting. I'm still surrounding myself with people who don't care about me at times because of my hurts, insecurities, and fears. I am so afraid of the people who do care about me that I do everything in my power to keep the truth from them. I've been abandoned so many times that I do things to avoid it even if it means putting energy into the wrong people. This vicious cycle continues to leave me more broken, more hurt, and more hopeless than I have ever been.

Since being in the hospital I have realized that my brain takes me to this dark place because I'm also Bipolar-a recent diagnosis that seems to make perfect sense. But the dark place keeps getting darker. And the hurt and abandonment I've felt my whole life keeps piling up. I struggle with suicidal ideation all the time. Everyday, every moment sometimes. It is my version of normal. But at the same time I have begun to fight as hard as I can with what fragile life I have left to survive. I am in therapy twice a week and have started a medication plan with my doctor and psychiatrist. At the same time I still feel that urge to leave this world behind.

I've been off work a lot lately, on FMLA and intermitten FMLA to go to the hospital and to get help. But also because when I return to work I have mental breakdowns. The hostility I continue to face there pushes my breaking point. I fear that re-entering the workplace will only continue to add to my trauma.

The only hope I do have left in life is my chosen family in California who have offered more love and support than what I feel I deserve. Being the one who needs help is hard and it's challenging to feel like you are burdening people. But I'm ready to receive the help I so desperately need. These friends in California have been my real family-my brothers and sisters- for over ten years now. They are like the family I didn't have. And after that recent trip to home to heal and spend time with them and other dear friends, I don't think I can be away from this support network any longer.

I want to be clear that while my story may seem powerful, there are so many other hurting people with more challenging experiences. I'm not putting my story out there to have it be gaged on some severity scale. I'm doing it because mental illness is real. And I'm being brutally honest in asking for help because I know that others out there need to hear it and are hurting or afraid to say anything. It takes all of the courage I have to lay this story out there. I am afraid of pieces of this story being shared to people who don't understand, don't agree or can't be supportive. But this is important to my survival and to showing any one else in my position that reaching out for help is the most important thing. 

Something is wrong with my brain chemistry. And I need time to allow medicine to rewire it so I can learn to heal and to be someone capable of living and working. But treatment and hospitalization cost money. Money I don't have while I'm not working.

The support my friends are offering in California includes a safe place to live, an opportunity to transfer health insurance, emotional support while I figure out the right medication and healing plan, and the ability to reconnect with important mentors who have known me since freshman year in high school and are committed to this process. My therapist has chosen to support this decision as well, and in the next two to three months we will be working on a transition plan that includes getting set up with a therapist in California. I will also be working with my psychiatrist to retrieve a supply of the medicine I'll need during the transition.

I believe our society needs to be more aware of mental illness and to learn how to understand and support the unbearable impacts that it has. No matter what happens with this campaign, or how this story is shared or received, I plan to fight to be a strong advocate for this cause for the rest of my life.

Any contribution you feel compelled to make will cover the current medical bills for the treatment I've received, the money lost in the time I've needed off from work, the medical payments that may increase upon leaving work, as well as the cost of moving. It will also support any treatment and basic needs upon my transition to California.

I am hoping for compassionate hearts who can give me a chance to reach that goal and a chance for me to start wanting to live my life. Not just for me, but for the people who my story resonates with-the people who need the courage to tell their own story too. If you are someone who feels some sense of hope or encouragement in what I've shared, please reach out to me. I would love to hear your story and support you to the best of my ability.