As you can probably guess by the title, and just maybe the photo, this post is about my girlfriend and love of my life, Charlie. You might be wondering why I decided to write a post about how and why I'm proud to call her mine. It should be self explanatory, right? When you love someone you should always be proud of them, no matter what they do. And, of course I am. But this pride is on another level and for a different reason. It's the kind of pride that makes your tummy get that weird butterfly feeling. It's the kind of pride where you smile so big and tears fill your eyes as you write a blog post about it. It's the kind of pride that you just want to yell to the world about. So, that's what I'm doing.
Well, ok maybe not the whole world. But, if you're reading this blog, I'm yelling it at you.
I am not going to give great details about this story because it is not my story to tell. Charlie has a wonderful blog of her own on this very website, called The Rollercoaster of Mental Health. I highly encourage you to go check it out, and learn about her journey with mental health. The story that I will tell is one from an observers perspective---a very proud observer.
Charlie has been dealing with the Canadian Mental Health system for about 2 and a half months, but she's been dealing with mental health issues for years. I will never truly know what made her ask me for help initially. I'll never know if it was because she felt safe to ask me, if she was just tired of fighting with her mind, or if she just decided that June 2020 was the right time. I don't know, and honestly it really does not matter. The fact that she reached out and asked was a huge step in and of itself, especially considering that she had been dealing with this for years.
She ended up going to three hospitals in two days. Two of those hospitals need to have their mental health unit re evaluated. The third hospital wanted to send her home. If Charlie had not fought as hard as she did to get in, I don't know what would have happened. Even though she was feeling horrible mentally, even though she was so tired of fighting, she refused to stop. And finally, she was admitted. I find it really awful though. Why do you have to have a psychotic episode or attempt to end your life in order to be taken seriously in the mental health system? Why do people that ask for help, that want help, why do they get turned away or treated like their problems aren't serious?
Charlie's first stay in the third hospital did not last as long as it should have. As she will tell you, it was because she got really good over the years at hiding how she was really feeling; acting like she was fine.
Her second stay at that same hospital has lasted a little over 6 weeks at this point and she has made incredible progress. She has been trying very hard to be more open and honest with how she is really feeling. She has started asking people for what she needs instead of doing what she thinks they want. And she has even asked for testing to be done so that she, we, can have a concrete diagnosis.
I can tell you that I have met a lot of people in my life with mental health issues. I can also tell you that I have never met someone who has leaned into their recovery, fought so hard to get the help they need and understood that they need to be in a safe environment like Charlie. To me, she is an example to people suffering with mental Illness. She is an example that you can get better. You can get the help you need. Our mental health system sucks. Hands down. Globally, it sucks. But what Charlie has taught me is that if you don't give up, if you keep fighting, you can find the crack in a broken system. You can find a rainbow in a thunderstorm.
So yeah, I'm pretty damn proud to call her mine.
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