Believe it or not, a brief summary of my life to explain why I am on this
path.
I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at the age of fourteen. Having two
doctors for parents and being raised in an upscale city outside of Houston,
Texas, this caused my relatively normal life to turn into anything but. I
was put on depression medication in the seventh grade as a result of me cutting
myself, and by the eighth grade I had begun to hear voices which after having
my first "episode" as my parents called it, I was hospitalized for my
first time and given my diagnosis. Growing up my parents were devout
Christians and took me to church every weekend, I was waiting for marriage to
have sex, I had never seen anyone use drugs much less done them myself, and I
had no idea what was really out there. I remember the first day in the psych
hospital we were informed someone had AIDS so we shouldn't
be sleeping with each other which I remember being very surprised
was an option for us. Afterward, I saw a girl pass out in the hallway from
a heroin overdose, then after the nurses carried her to her room and put her in
bed, I watched one of the boys I was in the hospital with go in her room and
rape her. The other kids laughed at all of this and one of the other guys even
proceeded to give him a high five once he returned. The same guy later came to
me and pulled out a condom trying to convince me to go back to his room with
him, me being a virgin at the time quickly said no. It was at that mental
hospital that I tried a drug for the first time, visitors could bring in food
and weren't searched when entering the building so the kids would have their
dealers bring them in their drugs and the boys gave me some sort of pain killer
that they were all taking. Meanwhile the staff read their magazines, and talked
on the phone paying no attention to what was going on. We got no actual
therapy, we couldn't go outside, and no one cared about us in anyway
whatsoever. That is what our mental health care system is like in the United
States, and no one is doing anything about it. After being hospitalized for my
first time I was taken out of the eighth grade, luckily I only had a few months
left of school and since I was a straight A student prior, they let me pass. My
mom took six months leave off of work to take care of me because I was wildly
psychotic. My doctor told my parents I needed to go to a residential treatment
center. However, they called every treatment center in the United States for
teens and no one would take me because everyone said I was too sick and not
well medicated enough. There was only one place that said they would take me
but it was $30,000 a MONTH. My psychiatrist could give my parents no other
solution other than more hospitals and more meds. Hospitals made things worse,
and my meds turned me more and more into a zombie. So over the next 6 months my
mother patiently cared for me the best she could. My episodes would happen when
the voice I heard (named Adam) would get angry with me and start screaming, in
turn I would start screaming at him to stop and I remember he would hold me on
the ground and send shocks of pain through my body that was the most unbearable
thing I had ever experienced. All my mom could do was cry and watch me scream
for about five minutes or so until he would release me and let me rest. During
that time my behavior dealing with the constant mania and depression was very
odd. I would get on what my mom called "missions" where I would
decide all of a sudden that I was going to be a photographer, or a model, or an
artist and would require the tools I needed for this and feel very passionate that
this was my calling in life and beg my mom to get me what I needed. She would
sweetly provide me with the things I wanted in the cheapest way possible
knowing that I would get bored of it within a few hours. Every time I realized
that that wasn't my calling in my life it would put me into a depression where
I would be wanting to kill myself until I came up with something new I wanted
to do. My parents took me to 5 different psychiatrists and multiple therapists
trying to find someone who could give them a better solution because nothing
was helping me get better. Doctors told them that if I lived to be 30 then I
might be able to get a job at something like McDonalds and that I might get
lucky enough to graduate high school, but that I would probably never go to
college or live on my own. I remember even when I was at my sickest I knew in
my heart that that wasn't my fate. I knew that I would be ok one day. When
ninth grade started I wasn't mentally stable enough to go to a regular
high school so my parents put me in this little one room school house
for "troubled" teens. This is where I met my first boyfriend
and lost my virginity which sent my parents over the top and caused them
to decide that it was time to send me somewhere, ANYWHERE to get more help. My
dad ended up having a conversation with a psychiatrist that worked in his
office building about what I was going through and he told my dad about a
boarding school called
Excel Academy (the link will take you to an article a
student wrote about her experience with the place just so you can get an idea
of what kind of place this really was) where he was the psychiatrist
and informed him that it was a place for troubled teens. According to
him most of the kids were bipolar and he was positive they would take me. My
parents thought this was a miracle and immediately went to check it out. It
wasn't long before they got me in the car and drove me to this horribly
deceiving place. The story of my time at Excel I won't get into but long story
short, it was an extremely abusive place where I was unable to inform my
parents of what was going on. Fortunately, the psychiatrist who knew my dad
lowered my medicine which caused me to start having episodes and after three
days of being manipulated, verbally abused, and threatened by the owner of the
place she contacted my parents to let them know that she was transferring me to
a wilderness program in Utah. Of course my parents immediately came and got me
and took me to yet another hospital until they could get me somewhere better. I
was only at Excel for about 3 months but I had nightmares about the place for
the next 6 years. I went on to a treatment center in San Marcos, TX where they
ran a number of tests on me including a IQ test on which I scored 156 much to
everyone's surprise. Slowly I began getting more and more medicated and once I
returned from San Marcos my voices were relatively controlled and I was able to
function somewhat normally. When I returned home it wasn't long before my
boredom and lack of emotions got me mixed up with the wrong people and I ended
up on drugs. Ecstasy was the first real drug I was able to get my hands on and
I remember that was the first time in the past year I had felt emotion. It
was then that I decided I wanted to try more drugs so that I could feel more
emotions. That was the start of my drug abuse which eventually led me getting
caught with an eight ball of cocaine and an ounce of weed and putting me in
juvenile. I remember that knowing that I had to be sober was the most
devastating thing I had ever felt. I was put on a year of probation which made
me want to kill myself, yet again, and I felt like it was the end of the world.
However, that year of probation only taught me self-control. I managed to
pass all of my drugs tests while still using and knowing what day I needed to
stop so I could pass a test. By the time tenth grade came along I was
prescribed to 23 pills a day and was still using street drugs. I
attempted to go back to high school but by this time because of my
medication I had gained a huge amount of weight. At fourteen I weighed 110
pounds, and by the age of 16 I weighed 200. My high school was full
of gorgeous, stuck up rich girls and I was bullied to the point of tears every
day. I was overweight, strung out on drugs and extremely weird,
also everyone knew that I had been going to mental hospitals so everyone
made it a point to let me know just how much of an outcast I was by calling me
a "fat bitch" and a "freak". After coming
home crying to my parents every day for a couple months and more threats of
suicide my parents let me be homeschooled again. Eleventh grade I tried to go
back again only to receive the same horrible treatment except this time the
senior boys in my AG class thought it would be hilarious to throw me out of my
desk and laugh. So again, I became homeschooled. Over the summer of eleventh to
twelfth grade my parents got me weight loss surgery because they felt so bad
for what I was going through. I ended up spending my senior year at an
alternative school where I managed to graduate and because of my weight loss,
was not bullied and made a few friends. However at this point boys became
interested in me again and after all of the bullying that caused my self-esteem
to completely disappear I ended up in some pretty awful relationships where I
was abused and manipulated. I became pretty promiscuous in the attempt to feel
good about myself, which of course in the end only made me feel worse. After a
couple failed attempts at going to community college my mom met a guy at a
medical meeting who owned a farm in upstate New York and invited me to come out
and work on his farm. My mom thought that might be good for me and decided to
send me for a couple weeks to see if I would do ok. At this point I was almost
21 and had no direction in my life whatsoever. I immediately fell in love with
the animals and befriended an 600 pound pig named Ralph who I would take naps
with and read children’s books to. I ended up returning to the farm after my
couple weeks were up and later on decided to find another farm to intern on
which led me to Oregon. I interned for this old hippie couple who didn’t
believe in western meds. I remember the woman of the place telling me that she
didn’t think I would need to be on medication forever and that was the first
time that thought had ever crossed my mind. Upon my arrival the owner of the
farm told me he needed a new calf and took me to a cattle farm to pick one out.
I picked one that had only been born a few hours prior to my getting there. I
named him Texan and it was my job to bottle feed and raise him. After a couple
weeks Texan got very sick and needed antibiotics, however because the couple
didn’t believe in western meds, wouldn’t give him any. There was a baby lamb
who had the same illness and while the lamb died with no special attention, I was able to nurse Texan back to health by giving him an extensive amount of
love. I held him and sang to him, talked to him and slept with him. I refused
to leave his side, and over time made a slow but sure recovery. It was then
that I realized the healing power of love. I decided that if I could love
myself enough, I could heal myself and be free from my medication. When I
returned home I got off all of my meds cold turkey without telling anyone and
began a five month long process of withdrawals that included vomiting, fever,
chills, and extreme lack of appetite. I made a whole new group of friends and
stopped coming around my parents so that no one would know what I was going
through. Then finally, after a long grueling five months of constant illness
the withdrawals stopped and I felt like I had awoken from an eight year sleep.
I was finally alive again, I could feel everything and I was ready to be led
down whatever path was presented in front of me. After a slight detour in the
wrong direction and getting pretty heavily back into cocaine for a few months,
I met who is now one of my best friends who introduced the idea of “finding
yourself” to me. I sobered up and took my life in this new direction. I spent
the next year traveling to music festivals and being on the journey of figuring
out who I was and what that even meant to find myself. I began the process of
the opening of my mind. My beliefs and opinions and the way I saw the world
began to change, my spiritual journey and my path to enlightenment had begun. I
slowly started realizing that I wanted to do something that could make a difference
in the world and the idea of wanting to build a self-sustained farm school for
mentally ill children started to form. I presented the idea to my parents and
they loved it. They offered to support me financially so that I could
everything I needed to. I did some research and found a bunch of internships
and was soon on my way to building Earthships. So this is where I’m at now, on
the journey to make a difference in the mental health world. People don’t
realize how messed up our system is and I am determined to do something about
it. I am so grateful for my diagnosis and everything I went through because it
brought me to this beautiful path I am on today and I have a pure form of
happiness that a lot of people will never experience because they are chasing
after it in the form of material items, money or drugs. The happiness that
comes from having found purpose, that comes from doing something for someone
knowing that you will receive no benefit other than the joy of seeing them
smile,
that comes from knowing you are
contributing to something positive, from being surrounded by uplifting people
in a positive environment where you can express yourself and live a healthy
lifestyle, that is the happiness I get to experience every day and my dream is
to create a place where other teens that are going through what I was going
through can have that too. So this blog will document everything I am learning
and the adventures I am having along the way on my path to turn my dream into a
reality.