Why My Recovery from Symptoms of Mental Illness Scares Me

From inside an abandoned building, light and foliage can be seen through an open door, much like the glimmer of hope ahead of me during my recovery from symptoms of mental illness.

Recovery from mental illness is complicated. Figuring out what recovery will realistically look like is complicated. The actual process of recovery is complicated. And figuring out how you feel about your recovery can be more complicated than others may think. For me, recovery is a lifelong process. Due to the nature of my illnesses, some, if not all, will be with me my entire life. What I’m chasing is stability. And right now, I’m fighting to break free from severe symptoms. It might sound a little ridiculous, but, at this stage, my recovery is full of mixed emotions. I’m excited, but also terrified.

In the beginning, things looked bleak.

Every step forward in my treatment ended up with me knocked off my feet and stumbling ten steps backwards. Medication changes were making only small differences. I went from doing therapy once a week to twice and then three times a week. At a certain point, my doctor suggested I look into social security disability benefits. And as I continued to spiral further downward, my doctor strongly considered hospitalizing me or getting me into an intensive outpatient program.

Fear wrapped around me.

I was afraid of so many things. I feared the unknown – hospitals, outpatient programs, and also putting my needs first. The cost of everything had my gut in knots. And I was terrified that I might lose my job. So my boyfriend and I worked together and came up with a plan that would ease us into reaching a point where I could go on disability benefits without bankrupting us.

We were incredibly lucky to have abounding support from both of our employers, families, and also friends. At this point, I’m working three days a week and doing therapy three days a week. I’m also avoiding driving right now due to the dark thoughts that found space in my head every time I sat behind the wheel. Each step forward is still met with a forceful push backwards, but a glimpse of hope is dancing on the horizon. But I don’t feel entirely good about that.

Recovery is terrifying.

I’ve been living with mental illness my whole life. I have no idea what life without it looks like. Will I like being happy? Would I forget everything I’ve been through? Will I be a different person altogether? Don’t get me wrong, I know that I will never be mental illness-free. At a minimum, schizoaffective disorder will always have a place in the brain that it has physically altered. Chances are I would still have residual symptoms of depression, anxiety, and obsessive-compulsive disorder as well. But for some reason I find myself worrying that recovery will remove my empathy, humbleness, and also my credibility as an advocate. It makes no sense, I know. But I can’t seem to convince myself that that’s not what will happen.

I also feel guilty.

Here we’ve gone and told everyone that I’m on the fast track to disability, and now, while there’s still a good possibility my journey on recovery will take me there, it’s slightly less certain. I feel like I’ve lied to people. My doctor assures me that no one will be upset with me for getting better, but the guilt always hovers nearby.

My recovery is a tangle of mixed emotions.

It’s confusing. Shouldn’t I be happy about the potential for reaching stability faster? Why would anyone be afraid of being happy? I know I don’t handle change well, but I thought a positive change would have been easier. But it’s not. It’s been so long since I’ve truly felt stable that it seems foreign to me. And happiness feels uncomfortable because I fear losing sight of who I am.

I can’t imagine a world like that – where life is a tiny bit easier and I’m not smothered by symptoms. Several years ago when my boyfriend decided to move from California to Illinois to be with me, I found myself worrying that I was experiencing hypomania for the first time, but it turns out it was happiness.This isn’t to say that I’m truly unhappy in life right now, but it’s different. It doesn’t feel the same.

I don’t define myself by my disorders, but they have shaped my life and my views and I don’t want those to change.

I’m used to turmoil. I’m used to pain. And I like that I can use them as fuel to help others. While I know I truly need not fear losing who I am, reaching stability and happiness would be a massive change. And change always brings mixed emotions for me. I will not let my fears stop me from chasing recovery and stability, but I know they’ll be with me every step of the way. As scared as I am, I still want to see what life with stability really looks like. Or at least more stability than I have now. So, with my fears by my side, I will walk through the dark in search of light.

For more stories on recovery, click here.

You can find an extended version of one of my articles on recovery on The Mighty.

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