
Photo courtesy of Treatment Advocacy Center
(9-20-21) Today I welcome a guest blog by Glenn Slaby, who describes in this powerful essay, his life living with a serious mental illness. As always, the views expressed are solely those of the writer.
CROOKED ROADS : Part One
By Glenn Slaby
Sometimes, I just can’t believe I have mental illnesses. Four, the latest count. Some genetic, some from life. I accept, not as a degradation, but a cross. Our culture sometimes does not accept this type of cross. My mind is so different in the way I think, perceive, feel and act, like in a box. This is my life, making it purpose from a burden, a trial to be borne to help others. I am different and wonder, should I care if my inflictions are visible.
Thirty-five years mind different. Then, twelve years misdiagnosed. Twenty learning, struggling, developing into something new. How many acts, decisions made within this frame? How many the right choices? What of the long-term effects of being misdiagnosed for so long? The difficulty of being a husband, father when the brain doesn’t work when it should. Why? I’m still one of the lucky ones.
I hope, believe, “I consider that the sufferings of this present time are as noting compared with the glory to be revealed for us.” Romans 8, 18*
“Sorry there is nothing we can do for you.” The doctor and therapist, their words seemed so easily spoken. Did they understand the pain inflicted with those words? And a knife went through my heart, my wife’s.
We stared, dumbstruck. Third in-patient stay in as many months. Unbeknownst, two more to come. Seems a long time ago, yet freshly lies on the surface of mind’s memory, Scars mostly healed – the discernible ones. Diagnosis, treatment, how different today than in ’04, hopefully. Twelve years prior, the year of my son’s birth, some attributes led to the incorrect bi-polar disorder conclusion. I wonder, ask why?