Celebrities are just ordinary people given the chance to be paid to be in front of the camera.
Some people don’t know, or few people wonder, what illnesses plaque celebs.
Celebrities are just as susceptible to mental illness as we are. If you’ve been watching the news, or the news feed on Facebook, a great actor just passed. Robin Williams, died at the age 63, a great comedian and actor, found dead in his home this morning. All the reports I’m reading are suggesting suicide. The official statement from the Marin County Sheriffs’ office says it was suicide. His publicist said that he had been battling a severe depression.
Depression can affect anyone, including those we look at as stars. Though, many don’t show the signs or symptoms, how much is concealed for the camera? Celebs have to put on happy faces for the cameras so that we think they are living the good life.
Demi Lovato speaks openly, now, about her mental illness. Bipolar disorder, bulimia, and self-harm sent her to the hospital; she, now, advocates for mental health awareness.
In fact, there are great people from the past who had mental health issues, who survived, and lived decent lives.
Some that you may know:
- Robin Williams
- Demi Lovato
- Kurt Cobain
- Tim Burton
- Edgar Allen Poe
- Abraham Lincoln
- Buzz Aldrin
- Carrie Fisher
- Audrey Hepburn
- Ben Stiller
- Heath Ledger
- Howie Mandel
Just to name a few.
So, when you say that you are alone in this fight, or that you don’t know anyone with mental illness, please think again.
Mental illness is nothing to be scared of, nothing to be ashamed of, it should be researched more. We should support people more, we should judge less.
You are not alone. And mental illness can take a toll on anyone, even the greats.
If you are feeling alone, in a crisis, or suicidal, please don’t fight alone. Make a phone call to the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.
One year ago, in two more days, I was hospitalized for my depression. I was suicidal. I had a plan. I was going to take all the pills in the house, drink a bottle of alcohol, and die in my bed with a note that said I was sorry.
I was going to die. I was ready to die. I was sorry that I couldn’t make everyone happy, let alone make myself happy. I was sorry for everything and sorry that I couldn’t make it right.
But I told my counselor. I told someone what I was going to do. And they suggested hospitalization. I cried, for the entire hour I was there. I cried on the way home. I cried while packing. I cried to my best friend. I cried on the way to the clinic to get assessed, and on the way to the hospital. I was scared and worried. But my husband reassured me that this is what would be good for me to do. It wasn’t to harm me, it was to help me.
So, I got to the hospital. Intake took forever. But, Justin was there with me and was calming me, holding my hand and loving me and all my shortcomings. He was my rock when I was in the storm.
The hospital was fine. The first night was scary. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. They strip-searched me, which was scary and embarrassing, but I didn’t have to do the “squat and cough” thing, because, fortunately for me, I was on my period at the time. I got settled into my room and fell asleep.
The week to follow was great actually. I was pretty much stress free. I saw a doctor everyday and attended group therapy, which was really more of a joke than anything. I was able to call everyone everyday. I missed my friends and family though. I was able to see people Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.
I guess I knew then that things weren’t right at home. I was gone for a week and I knew that Justin was up to god knows what. We didn’t have much trust, but I was hoping that this was his wake up call. When I got back home, I wasn’t so depressed, until it came time for me to go back to work.
Work was a major stressor. I had panic attacks before and during work. The last night that I worked, I panicked and went home an hour after being there. Justin was pissed that I left early, I was just glad that I was able to go home.
I should have known then that things were different. That things weren’t the same at all, everything was a mess in my marriage. But I looked over it with the thought that he was just stressed out because of my episodes. I never realized how he really felt, because he kept everything so deep down inside of himself. When I asked him if he wanted out, he had said no. We lived like this for months.
It’s crazy how much can change in a year. I was diagnosed with Major Depressive disorder and PTSD in the hospital. My diagnosis has changed to Bipolar II disorder, Borderline personality disorder, and PTSD. I’m getting my medications checked on monthly, I’m attending therapy with my case manager Lisa, and I’m sleeping when my body tells me I’m tired. I am blogging more, whether it’s on here or on my Facebook page. I’m talking to people. I’m taking baby-steps to get back where I was. I’m making huge strides in becoming more self-aware. I am learning what I can handle and what I can’t, learning to put up boundaries for myself and my sanity. I’m learning to take better care of myself, like showering daily (yes, I know that sounds stupid) and washing my face each night. I’m learning to let things go. I’m learning what I want in life.
I’m doing a lot for myself. And I’m taking this time to reflect on my time in the hospital and all the trials that led up to that point. I’m visiting this moment with the knowledge that I am no longer that person that I was a year ago and that’s OK. I realize that I was in a down swing, and it’s ok to have those moments and that I will have more of those moments in the future. The goal is to let those moments pass and know that the sun will rise through the darkest night. I realize that my marriage falling apart wasn’t my fault, and that I did everything I was supposed to. It’s ok to visit these moments and reflect on what they offer, and then we need to move on.
My problem is the moving on part. While I realize it does no good to dwell on the past, my heart is still broken over these events. Eventually, with therapy and support from those I love, I will be able to turn the page from this chapter of my life and move on to the next. I have some faith and hope that things will turn around for me in the future. That I will find the one I’m supposed to be with and love with all my heart. Justin was not a good man for me. And that’s ok that I learned that lesson.
A year ago, I was a different person. It’s time to turn the page.
Severely depressed lately. I’m not really sure why. But I know I’m not happy. I think I was happy earlier. But now I can’t remember. It’s times like these that make me wonder what’s the point anymore. I have no purpose. I have nothing. I’m alone…
That’s sometimes a ridiculous thing to say. But I think it’s true. I get it.
Suicide is a way out. A way to get out from under all the bullshit that life throws at you and gets you away from everyone who hates you. But suicide is selfish. Here’s why:
Suicide takes you completely out of the picture. You might not be in pain anymore, but what about those you leave behind? How are they supposed to go on without you? When you’re dead, you sleep, forever. You’re out of harms way. But what about all those people who did love you, whether you think so or not, there are people that love you.
Living with bipolar and BPD, it’s easy to think about suicide. It seems like it would just make everything so much easier. You wouldn’t have to fight everyday just to survive. But then, you wouldn’t be surviving anymore. You wouldn’t be enduring, you would be dead and gone.
I think that a lot of people who consider suicide but don’t attempt are brave. They are at a place that they can function and can at least think about the consequences of their actions. Meaning, leaving this life with so much life left to live, leaving people behind and responsibilities. We all have people. We might not always think we have people, but we do. There are people who depend on us to make them smile, because simply being in their life brings them joy. Without us, who takes care of them? Who do you take care of everyday? For me, that’s my mom and my dog Rockee. It doesn’t seem like much, but I know that my mom depends on hearing from me everyday. Rockee, she depends on me for everything. For her, I’m her life. She’s the child I never had and she depends on me for love, shelter, food, water, everything. I’m life to her. Because without me, she wouldn’t be here.
We all have someone. There’s someone who is depending on us. And without us, their world would fall apart. Don’t think you’re worth anything? Think again. Because somewhere, there is someone who cares just for you.
Suicide eliminates you from the picture, it takes you out of the world. I know that we all think about it, and at times it seems like the easiest thing to do. Suicide is simple, but it’s so unfair to everyone else. You will be remembered only as the selfish one who ended their life because they were tired of surviving, and that’s not how I want to be remembered. I want to be remembered as the one who survived until the very end. And that’s what I intend to do.
If you’re at the edge and you’re thinking about jumping, think about all your family, all your friends, your pets, even your coworkers. You touch people’s lives. You are someone. And there is someone out there that still needs you, I promise.