The public figures that often fascinate us are the ones who seemed to have the world at their fingertips, but were so self-destructive at the same time. So self-destructive, in fact, that many of them died as a result. Marilyn Monroe. Elvis Presley. John Belushi. These are a few with whom our society seems transfixed. We try to connect it in our minds. They seemed so wonderful, but their insides ate away at them. Such a dichotomy. We call them tragic figures. And indeed they were.

So many people with less notoriety are living this life every day. Popular people. Loved people. Seemingly happy people who function seemingly well. People who are talented and funny and kind. Pleasant people. Good parents. People who fit the commonly accepted definition of “normal.” And yet, they’re tortured on the inside, too. They seem highly functioning to such a degree that it’s difficult to discern any level of illness. And yet, sometimes they are suffering just as much as those whose disease seems more obvious.

When I had my initial major breakdown, many people in my life said, “What? Lori? How could that be? She’s so funny, so pleasant. I never would have suspected this was coming on.” When I had my breakdown this time, people said the exact same thing…except this time it was almost everyone. Including myself.

But what do we expect bipolars to be…or any others suffering from mental illness? Are we truly looking for people who swear they see dancing pink elephants or who run down the street naked while eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? Do we really always expect crazy? When we hear mental illness, do we automatically dismiss these people as throwaways? When we are diagnosed with mental health issues, do we consider ourselves throwaways, too? I’ve had too many friends who did. They had gotten so used to being sick, they didn’t understand anything else. They struggled in a constant battle of recovery and stagnation, never fully allowing themselves to believe they could be anything other than what they had always been.

Isn’t it time, though, that we move past this point? Isn’t it time we realize how common these issues are and that there are things that can be done about them — very structured and effective things — that will help us move forward in amazing ways?

The problem, I think, lies in the mental aspect. Most of us don’t realize we have our respective (so-called) mental health issues until the mental problems manifest. We have gone untreated, due to total lack of knowledge, and we begin to suffer tortuous thoughts in our mind. We begin to think that maybe we’re crazy. And don’t get me wrong. There are people with these issues who do flat-out crazy things. I can’t lie about that. We all know it to be true. Even I, when left untreated long enough, got to the point to where my thoughts weren’t sensible. I was fairly delusional. A smidge paranoid. Mostly, I just wanted to die. In the height of my illness, I imploded on myself. That is why I was such a risk for suicide. Because I would hurt myself before I hurt anyone else. Because when the thoughts became too torturous and the thinking ceased to make any sense, I didn’t want to suffer it anymore. I just wanted it to stop. But, there are others I know whose illness manifests in much more dramatic ways – in extreme anger toward others – in violence – in paranoia so severe they think the television is talking to them and there are microphones planted in their bedrooms. Their symptoms manifest outward. They are obvious and scary. Yes, it can get to that point. For some people who have a chemical imbalance, it can get to that point.

And so often, we punish ourselves for it. We trap ourselves in an endless cycle of guilt and shame. We think we’re bad people. Sometimes, we think we don’t deserve to get better. Because when we’re sick, we all do things we wish we hadn’t. We all do things we wouldn’t have done in a right frame of mind. And we’re overly sensitive. So we lash ourselves mentally until we become trapped. And sometimes, we blame others…which doesn’t work so great, either. I know, because I’ve done all of this.

But can we pull back from it? Can we dissect it and examine it for what it is? It’s so important to start understanding it and recognizing it at its base level – as a physical illness. An unfortunate malfunction concerning the chemicals in our brains. It’s not the result of anything we did. It’s not the result of us being bad people or deserving to be punished. It’s not a character flaw. Personally, I consider it no different or less valid than pneumonia or cancer. Physical diseases. So, why should we be ashamed? Why shouldn’t we be able to say, yes, I’m bipolar. What can I do about that to get on with my life? When I think about it like this, it makes it seem so small. It becomes something that needs to be managed and taken care of, just like any other physical ailment.

And we can learn to manage our illness. This is such important information. Of course, it seems impossible while we’re still sick. The only reason I began to believe it myself was because, in recovery, I was introduced to others who had come out the other side to function in highly effective ways. I had dear friends who nobody would guess were mentally ill. But their days had been dark. They had suffered all the symptoms we acknowledge as “crazy.” These people were truly amazing. They were my inspiration. I hadn’t believed I could get better. In fact, I was sure I couldn’t. But when these people entered my life, I thought, my God, if they can weather it, then so can I.

And it is true that we all have different symptoms and react in different ways. But at the heart of the matter, the illnesses are all so similar. And though diagnoses may differ, in many ways, the underlying symptoms, feelings, and thoughts, are the same. First and foremost, the most important thing is to learn how to take care of ourselves emotionally and physically.

And we can learn.

If you want to learn to get better, then you automatically have more than a fighting chance.

After my initial breakdown, I spent many years exploring how to get better. Because I did not want to be sick. I did not want it to go back to the place where I had been. And when I went off my medication because I became pregnant, I managed extremely well for several years. The healthy coping mechanisms I had learned carried me through. But, when you are bipolar, you are bipolar. It doesn’t just go away. So, at any time, the chemicals in my brain could just skip and not do what they are supposed to do. There is nothing I can do about that. Taking medication is necessary for me. There will always be some level of maintenance I must maintain. I am just grateful there are such highly advanced medications available to help me in this day and age.

When I had the breakdown this time, because the inital signs can sometimes be attributed to exhaustion and other daily stressors, I was not able to catch it before the obvious signs kicked in. But when they did – the not eating, the vomiting, the emptiness, the panic – I called my doctor right away and told him I needed to be back on meds that afternoon. Two hours later, I had taken my first dose. The terror inside me keeps me from fully going back to that place. The memory of what it was like thankfully keeps me on my toes. For many years, I fought long and hard to learn to function on a so-called normal level. Now, I can. And the road ahead may not always be easy.

But it will always be a hell of a lot easier than it was.