Full disclosure: We all are a little broken.

Welcome to my jan:plainandsimple blog. Today's topic has a more serious tone than my last couple of posts. But my message is one I hope you will find interesting, meaningful and helpful.

Soooo, here we go ...

I'm not exactly sure how to begin today's entry. I have typed a few words, changed my mind, backspaced, retyped, erased, and started over.

Literally. Dozens. Of. Times.

When I started my foray into the world of blogging and created the ABOUT ME section, I promised to share whatever happens to be going on in the corners of my mind or world on any given day. My first two entries seemed to flow effortlessly and spontaneously out of my mind, through the ends of my fingertips, to the keyboard, onto the page, and into cyberspace. I was on a roll, or so I thought. I had no way of knowing at the time that only a few days later my creativity would be nearly impossible to tap into. As hard as I tried, my well of positive energy appeared to be dry.

So I took a blogging break.

I was committed to keeping my posts positive, upbeat, humorous and entertaining. After all, who in their right mind would want to visit a blog that was dark, depressing and deep. Anyone interested in wallowing in sadness, badness or negativity need only tune into any of the 24-hour news stations. I had no desire to perpetuate that vibe.

But truth is truth and facts are facts and if I want to be taken seriously as a blogger, I feel that I owe my followers the courtesy of pure honesty and full disclosure. I only wish I wasn't writing this entry quite so early in my blogging journey. I hope it will not turn any of you away or alter your opinion of me.

But here goes ...

I happen to be one of the 5.7 million Americans who suffer from bipolar disorder. I have never hidden or been ashamed of that fact. On the other hand, I certainly don't meet somebody for the first time, walk up to them, shake their hand and say, Hi, I'm Jan and I have a mental illness. That would just be weird.

It is no coincidence that I entered the field of mental health. As is the case with many who share my profession, my career appeared to me as more of a calling than a choice. I was diagnosed at the age of 40, following a severe depressive episode requiring hospitalization. I won't bore you with details of the circumstances that precipitated my first admission. I dedicated many years to learning how to chalk that phase of my life up to experience, taking away only the pieces I believed I could benefit from to hopefully avoid making the same mistakes and continue moving forward.

In an effort to better understand the cards I had been dealt, I took my first college psychology course. Eight years and many credits later, I literally danced across the Lackawanna College Auditorium stage waving my hard-earned degree in the air and blowing kisses to my family and friends.

I made a commitment to paying it forward and giving back to those who might benefit from my personal experience and education. I joined the very team of professionals who had saved my life and encouraged me to set new goals and emerge on the other side -- happier, healthier, stronger, and with an empathic approach to helping others. I have worked in the role of psychiatric technician and behavioral health assessment specialist [which is really just a fancy term for crisis evaluator] for the past nine years.

And I can honestly say I love my job [most nights] and the rewarding fulfillment I derive from quite possibly making a therapeutic difference in the lives of others.

I pride myself on being high functioning --  holding down a full time(+) job, meeting family commitments and homeownership responsibilities, nurturing many valued friendships and juggling a myriad of hobbies and outside interests. I strive for excellence in nearly everything I set out to do.

So, what's the problem?

Every now and then -- despite my best efforts, despite my compliance with medications, physician appointments and healthy sleep hygiene, despite possessing knowledge and education in the field of mental health, despite being fully capable of facilitating group therapy sessions or counseling others on everything from developing healthy coping skills to goal setting to assertiveness to self-love to relaxation techniques to developing a strong support system -- my organic mental illness smacks me HARD right in the face.

And that's exactly what happened to me last week. I got smacked.

Pretty. Darn. Hard.

Not as hard as I have in the past, thank God, but hard enough to hear my bipolar disorder screaming, Hey, Miss Smarty Pants, you aren't Superwoman. You can't be everything to everyone and not expect to have a price to pay. I didn't see it coming, nor can I pin down exactly what triggered this episode.

So I tried to disappear.

Yep!

Despite all of my training, education and experience, the only thing I could think of doing was hiding my car in the garage, locking my doors, turning off the lights and isolating to my bed until the darkness passed. I unplugged from Facebook, from my brand new blog, from my family, from my friends, from work, from the world. Counterproductive, much, Jan ???

I began feeling defective, weak, damaged, pitiful and  insecure. I felt worthless, hopeless and helpless -- those three adjectives that flash like neon lights on a crisis evaluator's radar screen. Make no mistake, I never wanted to die. I just wanted the energetic, happy, perky old Jan back -- the one who laughs way too loud and way too long at the most inappropriate times.

I felt ridiculous and embarrassed for feeling so low when my life is actually relatively pretty darn good. I felt guilty and self-indulgent, knowing that so many others, both within and without my circle, are facing more dire and serious illnesses, hardships, losses and life circumstances.

Fortunately, my family, my friends, my coworkers, my healthcare providers and my hungry cats made it very difficult [impossible, actually] for me to disappear for long. I am one of the luckiest people on earth. I realize this! With a tweak of my meds, some rest, my amazing support system and my faith, I actually woke up this morning and thought, Here comes the sun. And I say, it's alright. Now, admittedly, that may have had a little something to do with the fact that I was dreaming about The Quiet Beatle, but, hey -- whatever gets you through the night.

So, what is the moral of this blog entry???

Hmmmm ...

Well, if there is one take-away, I guess it would be that we all are a little broken, and that's okay! Allow yourself to go ahead and feel whatever it is that you are feeling. Embrace it. Accept it. Even wallow in it briefly, if you must. But, don't push away the people, the support, and the resources that are out there and available to you. And I hope you will allow me to be one of them!

If you've read all the way to the end of this blog entry, then I want to genuinely thank you, SO, SO MUCH, for allowing me to lay all of my realness out there -- and for your continued support.

Peaceandlove.