Invisible voices pleaded with her to open her eyes and pay attention to a jagged rocky bed. Their efforts fell upon deaf ears. One by one, no longer wanting to waste their parched voices, they faded away with the winds. She didn't look to their direction until the last moment when saw she was utterly alone. She pleaded for them not to leave her.
She stumbled on a rock and in a desperate attempt to save herself she waved her arms out to her sides to balance. She cursed at strong mountainous winds for not giving her the break she deserved. As the wind kicked up and gained strength, it blew her hair out of its perfect place. In her effort to maintain her perfect appearance, she raised her hands to her head, lost her balance and fell all the way to bottom. It was a rough, long, unmerciful fall. She landed broken, sobbing and covered in blood. She slumped, cried, kicked and screamed. Not because she was injured, but because she thought everyone would laugh at her fall and the tangled mess she was. She wanted nothing more than to regain her place at the top of the mountain. Yet, at the same time wished a big hole would open up and swallow her. She screamed wildly into the cold dark air, crying and punching the steep walls of the mountain until her hands were bleeding.
Instead of admitting defeat and asking for help, she chose to walk, broken, cold and alone. Everyday she found herself more exiled, doomed to walk through the dark wilderness. She blamed everything which had happened to her on something other than herself. She wandered through the opening in the brush, into sand and stones at the bottom of the mountain. It was useless because no matter where she was, it was always dark. She never saw the sun rise. It was a vicious circle and she was exhausted. She gave up all hope of standing atop of the mountains with those she cared about. She sat on a small rock in the dark and waited for death to find her.
This is just the beginning to what appears to be such a tragic story. Through out the next several months I plan on telling my story to the world. Just to show and to PROVE we are not a stigma We are not the illness we were diagnosed with. I am the exact same person I was when we met last year.
This is ME... this is my story.
I may not have a whole lot to give to this world. But I do have the strength and power of my words to help break a stigma that's almost taboo in today's society. I'm an active, almost healthy 32 year old mom who has been diagnosed with Bipolar 1 disorder, MDD, PTSD & Severe Social Stress Anxiety. I may have these things but they do not have me. I'm not ashamed of what or who I am. There is no label on me, besides proud wife and mother!!!
If you are suffering from a mental disorder, I am pleading with you to join a support group to help aid you in your recover and DISCOVER the real person who lies within your heart. A label means nothing, it's nothing more than that, A LABEL! Join a group and share with people who have your common interest. If we stand tall and brave, then we will succeed in breaking this Stigma.
I hope my words are strong enough to get just one person to open their eyes and start a huge chain to help others to realize and understand that just because we have a "mental disorder", it doesn't mean that we don't have feelings and are any less human.
All of my best to you and yours!!
~Malekia
