Even better than the first time

The first time was 29 years ago, in October 1982.

The next time was a few months later, in August 1983.

From there, it was a blur of revolving doors, various medications and racking up some serious medical bills for the next two decades.

My disease first landed me at the Maine Medical Center. But it dutifully followed me all around the country — Vanderbilt University Medical Center in Nashville, St. Mary’s Hospital in Tucson, Arizona, Portland General Hospital in Portland, Oregon, the Southern Arizona Mental Health Center.

Kennebec Valley Medical Center, Southern Maine Medical Center and Sierra Tucson. It was like the Energizer Bunny…it just kept going and going and going….

I cannot count the number of jobs and relationships lost; or the number of times I moved as I attempted to outrun the disease and its darkness.

I was handcuffed, sedated and belittled.

So what changed?

Nothing changed. I am still ill, but the good news is that I am getting better treatment. Honestly, I still struggle with the meds . . . and sometimes the thinking and the behavior returns. Most times I can handle these demons. Sometimes I cannot.

I am luckier than most people I know. Today, I can hold a job. Today, I have a wonderful family who loves me, a beautiful wife and two amazing and resilient sons. I own a home. I pay taxes and work hard to make my community a better place for those less fortunate.

I can only do these things because I can get treatment for my disease.

This week is National Mental Health Awareness Week, and a story in today’s Maine Sunday Telegram is a good example of how mental illness can affect anyone and about the hope for those who struggle with its symptoms.

I also invite you to read the op-ed I published shortly after the tragedy in Tucson earlier this year. Jared Loughner and I have too much in common. The only difference is….that by the grace of God, I got help and my illness has been held at bay.

I applaud Mr. Daigle for his courage and commitment to fighting his disease. Those of us who are willing to share our stories must do so because the cost of the continuing stigma associated with mental illness are just too much to bear . . . for any of us.