On April 13th 1988 I was delivered to the now bankrupt and defunct Charles River Hospital, a mental health facility. I was a naïve 14 year old from a shit town 25 minutes outside of Boston. I was sick with mental illness and the painful life I was living was about to quickly and progressively get worse. I hit bottom countless times over the years and with each episode I became sicker and sicker and my quality of life became worse and worse. In 2004 I lost the will to live, to even try to stay alive. This was when I, as an adult, finally began to address my mental health issues.
A common sentiment is that the punk scene is a safe haven for the mentally ill, the drug addicts, the alcoholics, the dysfunctional, the freaks and so many others like me; those who are on the fringes of society. In my experience, the punk scene allows someone like me, someone who for many, many years was so incredibly sick; continue to be sick without setting off enough warning signs that I needed serious help. At the same time it is unlikely that during those years, without being committed, that I would go seek out and get the help I needed. My reality is that after years of being institutionalized against my will, I developed an extreme distrust of the system and I rejected it.
In my experience, the punk scene frowned upon taking medication. Even dear friends in well-known bands spoke out against the taking of psychiatric medication. This anti-medication pressure and non-acceptance was a powerfully negative force in my life. Curiously, most people will take medication for having a cold, the flu, diabetes, high blood pressure, for pain, a headache, cancer, HIV, acid reflux or they will have a broken bone set and put in a cast or take antibiotics for any countless number of conditions.
In order for me to cope with my illness and the poor quality of my life I started smoking weed. I got high everyday and I would do anything to make this happen. They say that smoking pot is not addictive however for me it was the only thing that kept me under wraps and I had to do it. I was self-medicating and I did this for 10 years.
The punk scene allowed me to be sick. No one helped me find my way toward getting well. I had numerous friends who worked in human services yet I don’t recall being steered toward obtaining services. If they did it wasn’t enough because as a child of the system, living in misery would be 100 times better than losing my physical freedom. Looking back I must ask why weren’t my punk friends helping me get well.
I was unleashed into the world at age 18 unprepared for society and lacking the knowledge and experience needed to successfully integrate into general society including the microcosmic punk scene. My adolescence was spent living in very unnatural living situations surrounded by other uprooted teenagers and group home “staff”. These experiences set me up to fail and fail I did and these failures were repeated over and over again for many years. So much of what I needed to know about how to effectively get by in this world was totally lost on me. I never had a chance.
The punk scene makes excuses for people to do fucked up shit. The punk scene gives a free pass for one to be wild, crazy and destructive. I have to ask myself how many times did I hurt someone else when I was not well? I think the answer to that question is a lot. It is also equally relevant, necessary and important to acknowledge that there are those who took advantage of my being ill. I’ve had lots of “punk” friends over the years, some of whom have done some pretty sketchy stuff. Over the course of the life of a person with a mental illness we come across a lot of people who are very good at sinking their teeth into us without leaving bite marks. One frightening reality is that there are people out there who will do and say anything and hurt anyone to achieve their goals; this has been my experience.
In the punk scene acting crazy and wild are accepted behaviors. People freaking out and being wild was and is par for the course punk rocker behavior. In my situation, I had a real serious problem and anyone reading this that knows me, regardless of what you may think of me, legitimate or not, knows that I was not well. The punk scene and my punk friends did nothing (or very little) to help me get better. One crucial point that must be stated is that no one should ever think for even one second that I liked or wanted to be acting the way that I often did. My unfortunate behavior was an expression of my inner pain and suffering and the sickness and chaos that I experienced personally only brought more and more pain and suffering to my life and only made me sicker and sicker.
I had no way to make things better. Every time I acted poorly I only made things worse. The friends I’ve lost over the years due to my instability are many. Mental illness is a lonely life, and no matter how much I wish it wasn’t, it still is. All those years I was always sick and I never had a chance to get well. I was forced to live in residential and group home settings as a teenager. I went straight to another group home once I aged out of the adolescent mental healthcare system at age 18. Within a few days of arriving at this the newest and last group home that I lived in, I was introduced to marijuana. Things then went from bad to worse.
I have done a lot of damage to myself and to others over the years. I know that if I had been receiving effective treatment all those years that things would not have been as bad for me and for those around me
The reality is that recovery from mental illness is not only possible, it is probable. Indubitably, my 22 years life experience of being part of the punk scene has informed my thinking about life in general, mental illness and how to live a better life now that I am well. I am experiencing what is called “recovery”. The National Consensus Statement on Mental Health Recovery defines recovery as "a journey of healing and transformation enabling a person with a mental health problem to live a meaningful life in a community of his or her choice while striving to achieve his or her full potential." I am living this reality and I am grateful for my disease, my recovery and for my opportunity to live a more meaningful and purposeful life.
I have written this column because I want to see my people rise up and live a happier, healthier and better quality life. When I say my people I am talking about those of us who live with the symptoms of mental illness. After a lifetime of sickness, I am well. However this seems to be difficult for a lot of people who know me to believe and accept as truth. I changed my life for the better and I am as far as I am concerned a beautiful success story. I am going to share with you about my recovery and what I did to get well. There are countless punk rockers, and people in general in our world, who are unhappy and struggling, who are self-medicating to deal with their pain and hurt, people who are on the fringe of society just like I always have been and likely always will be. That is a reality of life however I bring a message that things can improve for people who struggle with the symptoms of mental illness. Why must we continue to dull our emotions through substance abuse when we might benefit so much more from appropriate psychiatric intervention and/or peer support? Why must our friends and families living with mental illness turn to suicide? Why does the punk scene, a place of purported acceptance place a person such as me into the slim and restrictive category of being ‘crazy”? Why do we enforce stigma over offering love and acceptance? I can tell you that there is so more to me than a mental health diagnosis. I suppose it is easier for most people to classify me and put me in a box than to acknowledge that I have changed for the better. I am well, damnit, so please embrace me and let’s move forward.
In 2004 I hit rock bottom and was seriously in need of major psychiatric intervention. In the fall of that year I was arrested twice and I was not well either time and the cops were exceptionally cruel to me as would be expected. This experience was incredibly traumatizing for me. I also lived in a house with some really terrible people which was triggering me and causing me to have symptoms. I then moved to a different part of Boston. I was still in desperate need of psychiatric help as my then current doctor was not meeting my needs. I needed a therapist so I looked in the yellow pages and 3 weeks later I began meeting with a wonderful social worker whom I meet with weekly and have done so for 5 years. I fired my psychiatrist and sought out a more attentive doctor. I then accessed vocational services at the Massachusetts Rehabilitation Commission. I began attending a special and now defunct school that taught individuals with mental illness to work as counselors. I graduated from this school and did a 3 month internship at a local rehabilitation center. I also passed the Certified Peer Specialist Exam and was honored at the State House for it. I worked for one year at a recovery community as a peer counselor. I was laid off so I began attending college. In 33 credits I have a 3.856 GPA, not too shabby I must say. I played in a band and all the songs I sang were about my recovery. I finally got a great apartment that I can afford and I love it. I go to community acupuncture at least 2 times per month and it helps! I go to the gym which is wonderful for my mind. I watercolor. I spend time with my nieces and nephew. I have a great new job working as a Peer Specialist. I volunteer facilitating a weekly recovery group that is highly successful and I am compiling a book of the curriculum that I have created for this group. I have put out a fanzine. I have made and nurtured friendships and relationships. I seek out and offer peer support to people in the mental health community and with friends in the punk scene.
I accept the scorn of others as it is pure gold in my fuel tank and whether anyone loves me or hates me it matters not as my recovery is stronger and more powerful than anyone has any idea including me. I AM in recovery! I love life. I have changed my life and how I manage my symptoms for the better. I am surviving yet I am doing something even better than simply surviving, I am thriving and kicking ass in general. The world is my oyster and whether or not I have a mental illness and whether or not people accept me and treat me with dignity, I am happy and content and my life is beautiful and that’s that.
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