I
always wanted a mental illness, I just didn't get the one I wanted. Why
I say that? Sybil (published 1973 ), the mostly true story of what is
called today Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), but at the time I
heard about it, Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD) written about
Shirley Mason. There was a movie, but since I read the book I remember
being very envious of her illness only because I read it at such a young
age.
I found I identified with her story because I too had experience sexual abuse. I liked the idea of blocking out my history and it would be something my mind handled with a different persona entirely. One of her personalities was the smart one, handling the school work. Her only problem was, what if that personality didn't show up to take the test? I liked that her mind automatically shoved off into different areas her problems and presented what was needed in a particular moment to take care of any situation. Or at least that was what I read in her story. I saw it as a very helpful life tool, one I wanted.
In high school my principal would pass me in the hallway overrun with 1,800+ students and she tried her best but often called me 'Stacy' instead of 'Stephanie'. Even though I did big things in high school like running for freshman student council president and won that election and also was one of the 2% black population of my high school, this woman consistently continued the mistake for months. One day when she did it, I responded, "I'm not Stacy today. I'm feeling angry, so call me Stephanie."
The statement took her by surprise, but she smiled, corrected herself and thus my own brand of DID was born. Stacy got to be the 'nice' personality and as I struggled with anger, temper issues at an early age, Stephanie took the 'bad' personality traits. It caught on at school and home and was an easy way to check my mood on any given day. In college I called the second personality 'Toni' and now my alter ego is 'Simone Lisbon'. My body sharing twin wrote a book by the way, title, Forced to Change.
Back during the time when Toni was still my alt personality, I was first diagnosed Bipolar disorder. I went through all the stages of grief over it a few times and tried everything to avoid accepting the diagnosis. I also did a ton of research and made a lot of mistakes. I tried everything I could think of, while hiding my bipolar from people who didn't know.
I gained employment, but because I failed to disclose my illness, when I had a full blown manic episode I found myself unemployed and too embarrassed to return to the previous job. Since 1996 I've being institutionalized 9 times (2 I checked myself in) and arrested 4 times. It wasn't until I spent 3 weeks in jail for a misdemeanor charge of criminal trespass of a convenience store (yup, that was actually the charge) that I paid the one consequence too high for me to continue to let my bipolar continue to manage me.
Before the last arrest I'd always been able to get the charges removed because of my bipolar diagnosis. I'm grateful I hired a lazy overpriced lawyer who couldn't make that charge go away, otherwise I wouldn't have stopped letting the mania get the best of me. So I swore no more full blown manic episodes for me.
I treated it like an addiction. I hit support groups when I found myself approaching and identified by looking back over all the common symptoms of every episode exactly when I stopped being able to help myself and would need to ask for help. I also surrendered to the fact that I could NOT pull myself out of mania without psych meds.
That sound and sane decision made, I continued to try to live, still hiding my illness from potential employers. What I reluctantly discovered was I couldn't find the kind of work I was used to doing because I had a criminal record. A background check revealed the 'non-contested' charge and my length of stay in jail. Most of the work I was used to doing, I needed to be bonded or was working with sensitive enough information that despite my stellar resume and college degree I was closed out of my field of work.
I had other avenues of employment, for example a bartender's license, but since the charge happened at the beginning of 2008 I soon discovered most 'real' jobs were gone. I tried again to gain employment by adding another skill to my list, I got certified as a Nursing Assistant (CNA) and began another hunt for work. Still a background check quickly threw my resume to the bottom of the pile. Thus I spiraled into depression and when I'm depressed, I write. My third and current alter ego was born, Simone Lisbon.
I let the depression take me lower and lower over a three year period, but when life depressors started happening I failed to be able to help myself. I missed one house payment, my first in 5 years of perfect payment history and found my home in foreclosure within sixty days of that first missed payment. The only upside, I self-checked myself into a mental hospital for the first time because I was suicidal off meds. I got medicated and was able to be more proactive about my situation, all good things. (I also wrote a book while inside the hospital that will be the majority content of this blog.)
By some luck and the third missed house payment a woman whose job description was to go around to check occupancy on houses in foreclosure for the banks knocked on my door. She hooked me up with the same job and I filed Chapter 13 bankruptcy in an attempt to save my home two days before it's foreclosure sale date. Filing bankruptcy left me feeling as low as possible and if not for the medication, I would have ended my life at that point.
My credit cards cut off and over their limits, I had to live off the income from this new job where a background check was unnecessary to work it. Gas money was a huge part of it and I found that despite the bankruptcy filing I could no longer handle my bills, IE, pay my utilities or mortgage. I moved in with a God given blessing of a friend, KD, and slowly started to move my possessions out of my house, trying to save it as if it weren't already gone. I should have switched to a Chapter 7 filing, but I was so deep in depression I could do nothing to help myself and hindsight is always 20/20.
I had to stop the life saving medication because for the first time since diagnosis I found myself unable to pay out of pocket for it. My medication ran somewhere between $1500-$2000/month and I was uninsured. At the end of that year, my alcoholic father died. Within a month of his death I was illegally evicted from home and I was officially homeless, broke, and desperate to find a way to put a roof over my head.
I searched the internet for a living arrangement I could afford and discovered Personal Care Homes (PCH's). Half my possession's gone to the illegal eviction, KD pulled some male friends together and went to my ex-house. She and her posse moved everything that could be salvaged into storage for me, including the refrigerator and ceiling fans (which I'd loved to sell, if you're interested in purchasing).
This particular PCH I worked for was run by a woman who I felt was a money grubbing, worse boss ever type, but I was in no position to argue with her. I ate my hatred of this bitch in mostly silence and fell in love with all six (sometime eight and for 2 weeks it was nine) residents under my care. PCH's are not allowed to go over their max capacity, it's illegal but she ran two PCH properties and listed her personal residence as a third collecting and pocketing the residents' social security checks directly.
My favorite resident of the entire experience was the late great, eighty-pounds of pure spitfire, Ms. Della Bowers. Della moved in because she was in a PCH that was shut down by the illegal activity that my boss exhibited. We quickly became smoking buddies and planned our escape (said just like Dory from Finding Nemo read it). We had long discussions about it. Della loved to eye candy watch from the back porch even at 87 years of age. She was a joy to know and I will always miss and love her beautiful soul.
After a lot of hurt feelings, like justifiably being written out of my father's will (I'd cut off all contact with him because of his alcoholism) and hitting my breaking point with the nightmare of my PCH, God intervened in my life and yanked some witnessed and filed insurance paperwork out of the world and I inherited enough money that if I was willing to sacrifice, like Ramen noodles for most meals, I could safely pursue my writing career for a couple of years. I quit the PCH and quietly reported my ex-boss and her activities after settling myself on a friend's couch.
So that's my story. As I like to mention, Simone Lisbon is planning to self-publisher and has a book coming out, titled Forced to Change. It was a lot of hard work and the success and overwhelming work load sent me spiraling toward mania a few years ago. I self-checked myself into a mental hospital for the second time seeking medication. When I was released, I started this blog.
Today I'm happily medicated, living in Eugene, OR and working from my front porch office view. My journey with bipolar was necessary and improved my writing talent enough that I should be able to obtain my second biggest dream of all time. I pray daily I'll be able to make it come true. I dream I'll write a best selling novel one day.
I hope Forced to Change is it, but if not, I know it's in me. There's always Changed by Time, the follow-up & origin story to FTC. Although, recently there has been a follow-up book to Sybil, Sybil Exposed I think the original one has helped my life enough that I don't care to read it because I learned by believing the lie as I did with Go Ask Alice...
I found I identified with her story because I too had experience sexual abuse. I liked the idea of blocking out my history and it would be something my mind handled with a different persona entirely. One of her personalities was the smart one, handling the school work. Her only problem was, what if that personality didn't show up to take the test? I liked that her mind automatically shoved off into different areas her problems and presented what was needed in a particular moment to take care of any situation. Or at least that was what I read in her story. I saw it as a very helpful life tool, one I wanted.
In high school my principal would pass me in the hallway overrun with 1,800+ students and she tried her best but often called me 'Stacy' instead of 'Stephanie'. Even though I did big things in high school like running for freshman student council president and won that election and also was one of the 2% black population of my high school, this woman consistently continued the mistake for months. One day when she did it, I responded, "I'm not Stacy today. I'm feeling angry, so call me Stephanie."
The statement took her by surprise, but she smiled, corrected herself and thus my own brand of DID was born. Stacy got to be the 'nice' personality and as I struggled with anger, temper issues at an early age, Stephanie took the 'bad' personality traits. It caught on at school and home and was an easy way to check my mood on any given day. In college I called the second personality 'Toni' and now my alter ego is 'Simone Lisbon'. My body sharing twin wrote a book by the way, title, Forced to Change.
Back during the time when Toni was still my alt personality, I was first diagnosed Bipolar disorder. I went through all the stages of grief over it a few times and tried everything to avoid accepting the diagnosis. I also did a ton of research and made a lot of mistakes. I tried everything I could think of, while hiding my bipolar from people who didn't know.
I gained employment, but because I failed to disclose my illness, when I had a full blown manic episode I found myself unemployed and too embarrassed to return to the previous job. Since 1996 I've being institutionalized 9 times (2 I checked myself in) and arrested 4 times. It wasn't until I spent 3 weeks in jail for a misdemeanor charge of criminal trespass of a convenience store (yup, that was actually the charge) that I paid the one consequence too high for me to continue to let my bipolar continue to manage me.
Before the last arrest I'd always been able to get the charges removed because of my bipolar diagnosis. I'm grateful I hired a lazy overpriced lawyer who couldn't make that charge go away, otherwise I wouldn't have stopped letting the mania get the best of me. So I swore no more full blown manic episodes for me.
I treated it like an addiction. I hit support groups when I found myself approaching and identified by looking back over all the common symptoms of every episode exactly when I stopped being able to help myself and would need to ask for help. I also surrendered to the fact that I could NOT pull myself out of mania without psych meds.
That sound and sane decision made, I continued to try to live, still hiding my illness from potential employers. What I reluctantly discovered was I couldn't find the kind of work I was used to doing because I had a criminal record. A background check revealed the 'non-contested' charge and my length of stay in jail. Most of the work I was used to doing, I needed to be bonded or was working with sensitive enough information that despite my stellar resume and college degree I was closed out of my field of work.
I had other avenues of employment, for example a bartender's license, but since the charge happened at the beginning of 2008 I soon discovered most 'real' jobs were gone. I tried again to gain employment by adding another skill to my list, I got certified as a Nursing Assistant (CNA) and began another hunt for work. Still a background check quickly threw my resume to the bottom of the pile. Thus I spiraled into depression and when I'm depressed, I write. My third and current alter ego was born, Simone Lisbon.
I let the depression take me lower and lower over a three year period, but when life depressors started happening I failed to be able to help myself. I missed one house payment, my first in 5 years of perfect payment history and found my home in foreclosure within sixty days of that first missed payment. The only upside, I self-checked myself into a mental hospital for the first time because I was suicidal off meds. I got medicated and was able to be more proactive about my situation, all good things. (I also wrote a book while inside the hospital that will be the majority content of this blog.)
By some luck and the third missed house payment a woman whose job description was to go around to check occupancy on houses in foreclosure for the banks knocked on my door. She hooked me up with the same job and I filed Chapter 13 bankruptcy in an attempt to save my home two days before it's foreclosure sale date. Filing bankruptcy left me feeling as low as possible and if not for the medication, I would have ended my life at that point.
My credit cards cut off and over their limits, I had to live off the income from this new job where a background check was unnecessary to work it. Gas money was a huge part of it and I found that despite the bankruptcy filing I could no longer handle my bills, IE, pay my utilities or mortgage. I moved in with a God given blessing of a friend, KD, and slowly started to move my possessions out of my house, trying to save it as if it weren't already gone. I should have switched to a Chapter 7 filing, but I was so deep in depression I could do nothing to help myself and hindsight is always 20/20.
I had to stop the life saving medication because for the first time since diagnosis I found myself unable to pay out of pocket for it. My medication ran somewhere between $1500-$2000/month and I was uninsured. At the end of that year, my alcoholic father died. Within a month of his death I was illegally evicted from home and I was officially homeless, broke, and desperate to find a way to put a roof over my head.
I searched the internet for a living arrangement I could afford and discovered Personal Care Homes (PCH's). Half my possession's gone to the illegal eviction, KD pulled some male friends together and went to my ex-house. She and her posse moved everything that could be salvaged into storage for me, including the refrigerator and ceiling fans (which I'd loved to sell, if you're interested in purchasing).
This particular PCH I worked for was run by a woman who I felt was a money grubbing, worse boss ever type, but I was in no position to argue with her. I ate my hatred of this bitch in mostly silence and fell in love with all six (sometime eight and for 2 weeks it was nine) residents under my care. PCH's are not allowed to go over their max capacity, it's illegal but she ran two PCH properties and listed her personal residence as a third collecting and pocketing the residents' social security checks directly.
My favorite resident of the entire experience was the late great, eighty-pounds of pure spitfire, Ms. Della Bowers. Della moved in because she was in a PCH that was shut down by the illegal activity that my boss exhibited. We quickly became smoking buddies and planned our escape (said just like Dory from Finding Nemo read it). We had long discussions about it. Della loved to eye candy watch from the back porch even at 87 years of age. She was a joy to know and I will always miss and love her beautiful soul.
After a lot of hurt feelings, like justifiably being written out of my father's will (I'd cut off all contact with him because of his alcoholism) and hitting my breaking point with the nightmare of my PCH, God intervened in my life and yanked some witnessed and filed insurance paperwork out of the world and I inherited enough money that if I was willing to sacrifice, like Ramen noodles for most meals, I could safely pursue my writing career for a couple of years. I quit the PCH and quietly reported my ex-boss and her activities after settling myself on a friend's couch.
So that's my story. As I like to mention, Simone Lisbon is planning to self-publisher and has a book coming out, titled Forced to Change. It was a lot of hard work and the success and overwhelming work load sent me spiraling toward mania a few years ago. I self-checked myself into a mental hospital for the second time seeking medication. When I was released, I started this blog.
Today I'm happily medicated, living in Eugene, OR and working from my front porch office view. My journey with bipolar was necessary and improved my writing talent enough that I should be able to obtain my second biggest dream of all time. I pray daily I'll be able to make it come true. I dream I'll write a best selling novel one day.
I hope Forced to Change is it, but if not, I know it's in me. There's always Changed by Time, the follow-up & origin story to FTC. Although, recently there has been a follow-up book to Sybil, Sybil Exposed I think the original one has helped my life enough that I don't care to read it because I learned by believing the lie as I did with Go Ask Alice...
Your writing is amazing and heartfelt.
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