Wednesday, November 30, 2022

Comments by viburnum

Showing 2 of 2 comments.

  • Thank you, oh thank you for this! I don’t know how I’ve missed knowing about things like your program, like this website, like these people here who actually understand! Well, no, I do know how–in the thirteen years since I got off psychotropic drugs and began a “real life” I have assiduously avoided anything connected with mental illness, the mental health system, consumers, survivors, or anything else wearing an even remotely mental-health-related label.

    It must be time for me to reconnect, because I keep getting blown away by the stuff I’m reading here on MIA since I joined a few weeks ago. I find myself crying–full-on head-on-the-table alarms-the-dogs sobbing–with nearly every blog post.

    How different might my life have been if I had found a “place to be accepted, to find [my] gifts, and participate in the community”? It doesn’t matter, of course, because my life has been as it has been and I have learned a tremendous amount from it. I wouldn’t change a thing…but oh, I would welcome a community where I could talk about my experience and share my grief and pain and also my hard-won wisdom. Places like that seem to be pretty thin on the ground around here where I live. Guess I’ll just keep reading 🙂

    But anyhow, Thank You. Thanks for caring, for understanding, for making a difference.

  • Thanks for articulating something I’ve experienced but never accurately described. I’m a psychiatric survivor who has not identified as mentally ill in more than a decade…but the aftereffects of 14 years of polypharmacy and hospitalizations pervade my entire being. I had to go back on disability three years ago because my damaged body simply could not withstand a 40-hour work week. About a year ago, I volunteered to teach knitting at a weekend crafts workshop for women with cancer…and I was blown away by the experience. These women experienced many of the difficulties that define my own life. They have had their lives rudely interrupted, even usurped, by an illness over which they have little control, and for which the treatment is often far worse than the disease. I went home and wept. I hadn’t felt like I fit in anywhere since I left the mental health system more than a decade before.

    It was access intimacy, of course. Such a profound connection. I wish I had more of it in my life. This disabled psychiatric survivor thing is lonely, lonely gig.