Help for Teenagers Affected by Suicide: Break Through the Static

My local paper ran a story about a new nonprofit organization dedicated to helping teenagers who are affected by suicide. This organization, called Break through the Static, defines its mission as creating “a caring community aimed at helping teenagers survive, heal and grow after losing a loved one to suicide. At Break Through the Static, teenagers will experience a safe and encouraging environment designed to strengthen their emotional and physical health through positive peer and adult relationships, and by joining with other teens to share and cultivate their unique talents and interests.”

Wow, I wish this group was around 20 years ago.

In fact, I find it a little disturbing that it took this long to develop such a group. It shows, yet again, the large hole in support services for people who are directly affected by mental illness.

If you are a teenager who is affected by suicide, or you know one, please check out Break through the Static. What an amazing resource for an under-served group of people. We are not alone.

The Many Faces of Mental Illness: Get Well Soon, Kahlil Greene

Back when I lived in San Diego I was a big Padres fan. I’ve since moved away and the team I loved has been dismantled, as often happens in sports. But I was surprised when I recently searched for Kahlil Greene, of my favorite players, and discovered he’s essentially been forced to retire due to social anxiety disorder (SAD). In the 2009 season, SAD put him on the disabled list twice and he missed 46 games. Kahlil signed with the Texas Rangers for 2010, but his contract was voided because he wasn’t well enough to attend spring training. I don’t know what his current status is or whether he’s being treated.

I don’t much about SAD, just that it’s a type of anxiety. However, I found the Hacksaw article the most interesting because it shows how descriptions of his personality changed over the years. Back in his Padres days, he was quiet and shy, but in rehab he was “reclusive and a danger to himself.” Were the signs of his disorder always there, but waved away because he was such a talented shortstop? Or had things escalated, perhaps because of the demands of a career as a professional athlete? Whatever it was, I hope he gets the help he needs and goes back to being an amazing human vacuum in the infield.

Uncertainty: Emotions Involved When You Love Someone with a Mental Illness

This post is the first of an ongoing series where we discuss the emotions involved in loving someone with a mental illness.

When I look back over my mother’s struggle with bipolar disorder, the most enduring emotion is uncertainty. I never knew what lay beyond the door. Which way will the pendulum swing? Will I come home to the depressed person, unable to function, or the hyper energy of a mania phase?

Sometimes she was irritable as hell; other times she was in a state of terrible, manic happiness. The stages themselves also offer varying degrees of uncertainty—will the mania manifest in relatively minor levels of incessant talking or out-of-control surges of activity? When she talked about her ideas and plans in a manic phase, I couldn’t tell what was real and what was an illusion of her disease.

The uncertainty seemed to increase as my mother’s illness continued. On her good days, I wanted to believe that she was finally, “Fine,” as she promised. I wanted to believe we had found the right doctor, the right pill, the right diagnosis. I wanted, in essence, the uncertainty to finally become certainty.

Except that never happened.

Each time, I let myself believe we had found the answer. And each time, I let my guard down, and then after weeks, days or sometimes minutes, I somehow ended up in the same place I was before—full of uncertainly about my mother and her illness. I never knew where I stood with her. Instead I tiptoed around her or tried to avoid her altogether.

I had to learn to deal with the uncertainty, which remains even years after she died. I mourn for the lost innocence that let me believe I could somehow fix everything—if I only tried hard enough. I know better now.

I believe this particular emotion is not unique to this particular mental illness, although bipolar symptoms in themselves lend to a huge amount of uncertainty. Uncertainty is perhaps the cornerstone of dealing with mental illness. The uncertainty of the disease transfers across to more uncertainty about treating it, and to coping with its effects. Never knowing exactly what the right thing to do is. Never knowing if you did everything you could do.

Never knowing anything again with certainty.