Are You Ready for the World of Work?

Are You Ready for the World of Work?

By Sharon Goldberg

Consider some things first

There is a lot of talk lately about consumers getting off the disability track and going to work. Well, it is a lot easier said than done. This is especially so if you happen to have an emotional disability like I do. I feel as if I have spent my entire life preparing for work and living my life through work.

After I graduated from college, I found myself ill-prepared for the business world. I needed skills. The type of skills needed to succeed in the business world are as follows: clerical skills be it math, computer, typing, word processing, bookkeeping, accounting, etc. All skills not acquired in a liberal arts college.

More important than the above skills is the ability to deal with people in a personable, social manner. If you are not a people-person, you will have many problems.

You must be flexible and able to adjust your attitude to the politics of the office community. You must be pleasant, non-combative, and able to take criticism without taking it to heart.

You have to be able to combine all these skills into a reliable, likeable, capable and workable employee in order to succeed in the world of work.

What are prospective employers looking for? From my own experience, I recall many an employer's want-ad. “Must be a people-person. Must be diligent and detail-oriented. Must have computer skills. Must be well organized. Must be able to take direction. Must be a self-starter. Must be able to multitask. Must be willing to work overtime.”

Some ideas I would suggest in order to decide whether you are ready to work is to decide what you are good at. Are you good with numbers? Do you like to write? Do you like people? Are you artistic? Are you good with computers?

Do you need some type of skills-training? Perhaps you need to sit down with a job counselor. Maybe you need to take an aptitude test. Perhaps you want to start with a volunteer job. Maybe you want to start working part-time.

All of these suggestions would have helped me a great deal but I did none of them. To make it easier, please do as I suggest.

Are you ready for the world of work? Think long and hard about it before you jump in.

Editor's Note: Please don't be frightened of the possibility of work after reading this article. There are ways of getting your feet wet before you decide whether or not to take the plunge. For instance, you can join a clubhouse and participate in their temporary employment program and get paid for doing work that is at or below your potential. Or, you can go to a consumer-friendly employment program and talk to a working peer who can counsel you about employment based on your needs. Two such programs are Network Plus (718) 797-2509 or Network Plus West (718) 377-8568. Tell them City Voices sent you and receive a wink and a nod.

My Story by Emily

My Story

By Emily

Hope you get something from it

I'm twenty-six and I have social anxiety and agoraphobia. I've had it since before I can remember, although I wasn't diagnosed until I was twenty-one. Anxiety runs in my family.

I was bullied as a child, though I can't remember a whole lot from my childhood, except for various instances both positive and negative. I don't remember a whole lot of the bullying, just specific feelings and perceptions. I strongly suspect that I was clinically depressed since I was twelve or thirteen years old. I was depressed constantly, always fighting back tears. Getting out of bed was a constant struggle. When I got out of middle school, I improved, but not much. After I graduated high school I started to get worse. I was kicked out of college for missing so many classes, because I was too terrified to leave my apartment.
I had suspected I had a mental illness since I was eleven. I was always terrified of ending up in a straightjacket, and would rather be dead than go to a place where such a thing could occur. I tried to hide my mental illness for as long as I could. I was teased a lot for being weak, although I still think of myself that way. I wanted to be strong, and so I would 'punish' myself by cutting my wrists, starving myself, etc. 
Age thirteen was the worst time period, as I began to think about ending my life. I thought about when or where and how I would do it, what I would leave behind, and what I would write in my note. But I didn't really want to leave and searched for any reason to stay. Right about that time I started developing coping mechanisms. In the end, I decided to suffer through it because dying would hurt my parents. 
My parents had sat me down and told me I really needed to see a psychologist. I was terrified. The people I mostly depended on were throwing me under the bus. But I was too tired to fight them. When I went to the psychologist, I could not have gotten a better one. She was friendly, comforting and classy. We even shared the same political beliefs. She made me feel a whole lot better about everything; it wasn't nearly as horrible as I feared it was going to be. 
I was a bit gun-shy about going back to school because of what happened at MSU. I went to Drury for a while, which was great, but the same problem kept coming up. I got panic attacks every time I thought about going to class. So I went on sabbatical. I got a job at Prometric/Sylvan as a TCA, but I couldn't answer the phone so they had to let me go.
My coping mechanisms included horseback riding, my dog, Spider-Man, Harry Potter, and Digimon stories that exhibit humor and heroism make me feel much better. I've always been a horse nut. I feel very spiritually connected when I'm around horses. I still do those things now, but I also have other tools. I cover my hair with a tichel or head scarf, I employ lavender scents, meditate, pray, exercise, and of course, take my meds. 

My religious path has been long, arduous, and conflicted. One reason I was so adamant that I deserved my pain was I rationalized that God wouldn't let this happen to me if I didn't deserve it. When I was thirteen, I felt that God had abandoned me and so I began questioning Christianity. Now I'm twenty-six, and a polytheist Pagan. But, I'm much happier.

Recovery is the Level of Happiness We Obtain

Recovery is the Level of Happiness We Obtain

By Jeffrey V. Perry CPRP, MSM, Program Manager for Baltic Street, AEH, Inc. Peer Bridger Program

The pursuit of happiness is something we must remain vigilant in attaining. It is the central core of any human’s right to be. Recovery, in my estimation, is solely about one’s level of happiness in perspective to a worldview of satisfaction, not the individual short-term peace we could have. I hope my recovery will be long-term and self-sustaining. My life’s happiness, health, and mental stability are only as good as the level of satisfaction I have within, and put in place for, myself. My life goals in recovery are for this quality of life, which I see as what any person with a history of diagnosed or undiagnosed mental illness, substance abuse, medical problem or anyone with a compromised condition, deserves.

One’s awareness of their personal level of satisfaction is the most important factor in understanding if there is a “problem here.” It is often those undiagnosed individuals who have not addressed their situation by getting help, treatment, or services, who feel their sense of satisfaction diminished or who are in a total denial of any problem, and fight an uphill battle; while those diagnosed face other struggles, such as a search for any level of recovery, which is supposed to, by definition, be the down-hill fight. When you find the right combination of treatment for yourself, there is a better chance for recovery. But oftentimes, treatment may not focus on any level of recovery, and instead focus only on symptoms management. This, yet, at the cost of a diminished level of personal happiness and a lackluster recovery that takes time away for one’s regular life pursuits, cloaked in a stigma of social inferiority, particular in today’s I-based “IPod” existence.

We have being fighting against stigma on many fronts in our recovery, yet never did we conceive that it would in fact increase rather than be eliminated. As technology becomes more refined the gap between those looking for real happiness becomes much wider, because we have to wade through every new wave in technology to understand what we need in order to be happy again. Not to mention the high prices that we can never afford while in economic symptom arrest.

While under symptom management, in many instances, when our possessions are taken away for old safety-based reasons, they are never accounted for, or remembered (by the confiscator), or promptly returned. Where others would be furious, we become justifiably upset, yet, we, and our possessions, may be dismissed to causality.

So, we get to understand that life can be cruel, even under the direct care of others who prefer to see us however is most convenient at that particular time (not to single out any institution or individual). It seems to me that it is second nature to take advantage of the disabled, who many look down upon, or simply have low regard for in contrast to their “able” selves, and who believe that the disabled, of course, are naturally less happy, or, at least, they should be. It is indeed a miracle if a disabled person is happy. When will we each admit that we are all disabled or handicapped in some way? Is it not only about personal fulfillment or about accomplishing tasks?

One of the failures of symptom management is that it has not yet helped people rise to the level where they can find the kind of work that fulfills them. Medication cannot motivate a person or inspire them. And it certainly may help us do that which we want not to do, like not thinking clearly, being irritable and bothered by everything, or just not feel well, and possibly even behave in a negative manner. But, all in all, it’s about progress, isn’t it? We must move forward like anyone else. Right?

Note: This essay is from, A Peer on Peer Perspective in Psychiatric Health (In Prose and Poetry) by Jeffrey V. Perry, CPRP available in e-book formats. For more from Mr. Perry, please visit http://www.jeffreyvperry.com

My Struggle with Mental Illness

My Struggle with Mental Illness

By Jessie

This is my true story of suffering from bipolar disorder

I am 27 years old. I am just like any other young adult and have similar ambitions. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder four years ago.

I grew up just as any normal child. My parents divorced when I was around five and my mom remarried around two years later.  I started working at a large grocery store chain when I was fifteen years old. I excelled in high school. I was involved in French club, drama club, key club, and art honor society. At the time of my graduation from high school, I held a 3.75 (non-weighted) GPA. I received a scholarship from the art honor society which helped pay for college costs. The fall after graduation, I began my first semester in college.

I had no problems adjusting to dorm life and the new class structure. I started a job at the college under the work-study program to assist with college expenses. I proudly completed my first semester of college.

I decided to go home before I started my second semester. I went to my mom's to spend the holidays with her and then returned to college for my second semester. About a month and a half into my second semester I received a call from my aunt informing me that my dad had lost most of his mobility due to a tumor that they had found on his spinal cord and brain stem. I withdrew from college to help take care of my dad. I moved and started care on my dad until we finally found a doctor willing to operate and remove the tumor.

I had to find a job to fill the void of having a purpose in my life. I easily found work. I had no bills or obligations, but I felt a great burden on my shoulders. Work went well for a couple of years. I noticed that I started to get depressed. I thought nothing of it because everyone gets depressed. I started finding it more and more difficult to be around people and I started making irrational decisions. I would find a job, quit a job. This went on until I had no further options for employment. I eventually reached the point of being homeless because my thoughts were telling me that I wasn't good enough to have anything. I lived in the woods for several months through a cold winter. I had been moving from state to state not knowing when, where, or why I was going. I would just go until I had nowhere else to go.

I finally got stable when I started going to a mental health clinic. The doctor promptly started me on medications, but the medications only made me stay in the town I was residing. I continued to have some serious episodes that I couldn't understand. I was sent to a state psychiatric hospital after I busted out the windows of my car and set it on fire. It really felt like demons were out to get me. This was absolutely the worst I had felt at this point. I spent several months in the hospital and on many different medications. They finally found the medication that would work best for me. I was so grateful. When I got out of the hospital, I wanted to do something with my life. I went to one semester of welding, but I found that I didn't like it. I thought I’d take some more college courses the next semester. I went to all my classes the first day of class. Everything seemed like a blur as I sat in each class while the professor handed out the syllabus. My anxiety level just went through the roof and I was more than overwhelmed by everything that was covered in the first day. I decided to drop all the classes. I was afraid that I would be a failure and I couldn't take that. I just want to achieve and be the best at all I do. 

I decided that I would try to go to work. It seemed as if this would be a good productive option for me to feel worthwhile in my life. Most people do not understand the psychological effects of a man trying to live off of social security disability and support a family. I was raised in a family that taught me that the husband should provide for his family. I have been struggling with this for quite some time.

Now I am in a dilemma. I have not had a stable job in years and I have not worked at all in the past three years. I started filling out applications and doing interviews. I tried fast food, factories, staffing agencies, and more. I have yet to obtain a position of employment. Doing all of this work and having nothing to show for it is quite mentally overwhelming. I would have high hopes going into the interview and my dreams would be crushed coming out. There are only so many places that a person can find employment. I feel like I have exhausted more than 90% of my employment options to no avail. 

I probably do not need to tell anyone who suffers from a mental illness, but there are challenges. I have learned to take these challenges on and not worry about failure. I also know that it is hard to get people to give you a chance. If they do not want to give you a chance, someone will. People have misconceptions about people with a mental illness. The truth of the matter is, they should be more worried about the person not diagnosed as well as medicated who might seem to be classified as normal.

The Mental Rollercoaster Ride

The Mental Rollercoaster Ride

By Sheryl

It took a while to get a diagnosis that makes sense

I am a 38-year-old single mother. I was born and raised in Texas. I live with a mental illness called schizoaffective disorder. I am sharing my story about the struggle of waiting for the right diagnosis and medication.

I remember growing up as a little child I would sometimes see things. It became serious at the age of seven when I would see hands that had holes in the them. The hands would tell me to pray. My mother was frightened because schizophrenia is common in her family, so she took me to the doctor. I remember the test and bright machines. It came out negative. Maybe it was just a child's imagination or maybe some spiritual event.

As a child, I could not explain to adults the things I would suffer. I became a little writer who wrote songs to keep my mind occupied when there was nothing to do. As I grew older I had problems in academics and was placed in lower level classes from other children. My parents soon accepted that I was a regular child with some delays.

Many times during my young years I was blamed by educators for not trying my hardest. This would depress me as a child. I found myself being shy and afraid to talk to others. I went through some tough times when I would be frightened to sleep with no light on or would hear my name called. As I matured into my teens I became a little more open and just accepted this is how life was for me. It was normal to have an active imagination.

A year after graduating, I married my high school love. Life felt brand new to me. I was not alone and I was with a great guy who would be with me til the end. However, my symptoms would not stop. Maybe twice a year I would see an image of someone and would blink my eyes. There it was, nothing much, just my overactive imagination again.

I decided to attend a local technical college where I wished to teach and put my talent of creativity into action. Things like art classes which I had done fairly well in while attending high school, I was able to put into my student teaching. My grades were horrible although I tried my best and had only good intentions to do well.

Soon I was expecting my first child. She was born a healthy seven-pound baby girl. Although I did not complete my degree in child care development, the student teaching paid off for me to get hired as a daycare teacher. Later I began to sub as a paraprofessional and forced myself to pay for an adult continuing education non-credit diploma through which I earned a medical office diploma.

My life was changing for the better. I was making a higher pay but still I suffered with this thing I call imagination. I found myself being frightened to go downstairs at the hospital after one night of working in medical records. I was sent by emergency room to find a chart that was downstairs. I only remember the door opening up behind me while I was looking for the chart. Soon I realized no one was there. I soon began to suspect my high school love who was my husband of plotting to hurt me. It finally ended in divorce.

After the divorce I carried on. I did not complain to my doctors. I earned my certification as a correctional officer and worked in a maximum security prison. I began to hallucinate and see beautiful large angels, which was frightening. I would hear my name called. I would hear other words other than the words that were spoken on television. I felt that groups of people were stalking me for things like my creative writing and then I would lose it. I was very suspicious and felt that people were out to harm me. Soon one day I wanted to end it all. I wanted to kill myself. I found myself at the hospital. I was later sent to Spindletop MHMR where I was first diagnosed with schizophrenia. After counseling, visiting with the doctor, and blood tests, it sounded more like major depression. It took over two years on different medicines to find out I have schizo-affective disorder, which some experts still argue is not a mental illness. I am only an example that it exists.

There is Help Out There If You Want It

There is Help Out There If You Want It

By Jessica

We can't just be happy without a little help

I am 26 years old. I wanted to tell my story to help others suffering through mental illness. I would like to give a brief history on myself but concentrate more on things of late. Now, as I am sure you realize, there is a stigma surrounding mental illness.

I had a great upbringing with wonderful loving parents who were always there for me, and friends galore, as well as a dedicated boyfriend. I was diagnosed with ADHD and depression by 9^th grade and tried multiple medications before becoming resistant to taking them. Part of this resistance was in me not wanting to need medication just to function and definitely not wanting to be labeled in school. I was never told not to get help from my parents but by society who said it was bad to be different and that I had everything— so why not just be happy.

By 22 I went off to college and ended up with a whirlwind of issues from immobilization due to pain and gaining 70 pounds in one semester to trying medications that ended up making me suicidal. Once I flunked out, I spent the next year-and-a-half in bed unable to function and barely getting up even to take care of myself. I developed kleptomania and ended up with legal problems and was also diagnosed with bipolar depression and OCD. I was prescribed Abilify and it worked wonders for the depression when I would actually take it, but every time I started to feel better I would forget the need for them until I started to feel worse.

I continued this dance with medication while still attending therapy mostly regularly until finally I realized, more recently, that I needed more help than what I was getting. In November of 2012, I was caught stealing for the 5^th time and this time it was a felony charge. I knew something had to give.

I went back to my therapist who I’d told none of this to and poured my heart out, begging for help. I knew I had an impulse-control issue and had tried medication in the past to no effect, but this time needed to be different. She increased my Abilify because, in larger doses, although you can end up with permanent twitches, it’s supposed to help with impulse control. I was also put on the mood stabilizer Lamictal, which was also said to help with the impulse issues. At this time I changed my ADHD medication from my long-time friend Adderall to Vyvanse since at 2p.m. I would want to just pass out.

So here I am finally taking my medication regularly, going to support groups, and actually doing well. I feel that if I had hit rock-bottom with kleptomania a year or more ago—it would have been the kick I needed to take my medication and wouldn’t be facing the potential to end up in jail. Unfortunately, my rock-bottom didn’t come soon enough and now, although I am getting better and feeling happy for the first time since I can remember, I may end up at another bottom soon enough.

If you could take something away from my story, I would hope it would be to seek help and that through trial and error, although disheartening, you can end up with that right mixture of medication and therapy that could inevitably change your life for the better. There are people out there just like you who may also feel the heavy hand of society expecting them to just be happy without needing outside help. Had I realized sooner that there was help if I wanted it, and that there were others out there just like me, my story could be very different today.

Editor at Large: As I See It, Some random thoughts about our plight part 2

Editor at Large: As I See It

A Column by Marvin Spieler

Some random thoughts about our plight part 2

Goodbye Dr. Welch

Yesterday I said my official goodbye to Dr. John Welch. I see him one more time next month, when he goes into retirement for good. I have been seeing him for the last fifteen years in an OMH Psychiatric State Clinic.

This is a totally unusual situation for a publicly run and funded mental health program. It has been my understanding that therapists, especially, but psychiatrists as well, usually don’t stay in any one program for an extended length of time. They either get a promotion, work in a more convenient location when an opportunity develops, or move on to another agency for better pay. Some mental health professionals leave the system entirely. The salary is not adequate compensation for the stress level of the job. Caseloads are overwhelming. Because of the aforementioned reasons the turnover is quite high. In the end, the client-patient-consumer is actually the one who loses out the most when the continuity of care does not have a chance to develop.

The mentally ill are most often very wounded souls. Whether due to the nature of their biochemical disorder, or being a victim of (verbal, physical, psychological, sexual) abuse, the issue of trust is a big problem. It can take years for a firm bond to develop between patient and therapist or psychiatrist. Change takes time and trust is crucial.

When therapists or psychiatrists come and go for their own benefit, it causes much harm to the client-patient-consumer. The point can be reached where the recipient of services builds a wall around themselves, never more to engage in anything less than superficial communication with a mental health professional. This, to my knowledge, has always been the case with the public mental health system.

For me to have the opportunity to see Dr. John Welch for so many years is totally extraordinary. I have benefited from a firm relationship that has taken years to develop and grow. I have always hoped for continuity of care, but rarely have had it occur. With Dr. John Welch, the journey together has been a good one, with no regrets. The time has been well spent.

Yesterday, I reminisced with Dr. John Welch for more than an hour. I went on and on, aware that I was spending beyond the usual hour he generally gives me. I also knew he could have cut me off, if he so desired, but he didn’t. I think we both desired and enjoyed our last real time together. I said all I wanted to say to him. Thank you, Dr. John Welch.

Foreign-born Psychiatrists Should Learn the Language

Psychiatry is an art and not yet a science. Psychiatry requires communication much more than medical care. Doctors, even specialists, rely primarily on lab tests. It is the interpretation of these tests that separates a mavin from the others.

Too many foreign-born psychiatrists think they can speak the language. Very few do unless they study the language and its idioms. A case in point: a foreign-born psychiatrist is frustrating a patient admittedly unintentionally. The patient throws up his arms and says, “I've had it!” The psychiatrist then wanted to hospitalize the patient as suicidal! Sounds impossible? No, because it happened. The psychiatrist did not know that idiom causing a miscommunication. The patient spent the rest of the session trying to assure the psychiatrist that he was okay.

Foreign-born psychiatrists would be well advised to go to night school for immigrants to really learn the language.