Queer Peers for Recovery

by Mark A. Davis, M.A.D.

For decades the mental health consumer/survivor civil rights movement has been advocating recovery. I have been honored to work in this movement since 1985 and finally witness recovery as a system transformation goal.

Once labeled co-morbid, dually diagnosed and double troubled, I am now a co-occurring person living with bipolar II, in recovery from drug and alcohol addictions and living well since diagnosed HIV-positive in September 1988. This affords the label of being a person who is multiply occurring, dynamic, creative and gifted. I am still learning how to live a recovering life.

For years I couldn't be gay in mental health treatment, advocacy or peer groups nor could I be out about mental illness in gay society. It was a painful duality where peer support helped bridge this divide.

Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual (LGB) are sexual identities while Transgender (T) are gender identities, two very distinct cultural considerations. Questioning (Q) refers to coming to terms with our sexual or gender identity. Suicide is rampant in our culture. Addictions and mental illnesses are related to low self-esteem, coming out issues, family rejection and unhealthy social structures of being an LGBTQ person. Suicide attempts in my 20’s were directly related to my shame and fear of being gay and triggered my mental illness and addictions.

Homosexuality was a mental illness until removed from the DSM in 1973 when I was in high school. Yet, LGBTQ people are not mentioned in the President’s New Freedom Report, Co-Occurring Report to Congress, Surgeon General’s Mental Health/Cultural Competency Reports and National Strategy for Suicide Prevention. The governmental system follows a conservative moral political agenda disregarding research, funding, programs, policies and competencies for sexual and gender minority health.

My passion is to share the value of peer support as a vital link to live in recovery within our cultural roots. Modeling pioneer peer-run groups scattered across the country for sexual and gender minorities, the Pink & Blues* was founded in 2003. Pink represents gay culture, blue depression and the colors assigned to our perceived birth gender. We built a safe, confidential space one step at a time.

Perks of peer support are great friends who understand, sharing recovery stories, social connections and the stark reality of our shared experiences. I have someone to call in a time of crisis or celebration. Peer support validates past traumas, hurts and abuse to become a survivor rather than a victim. Peers are my heroes.

A peer support group is a place to meet people from other sexual, gender, racial, religious and disability roots. We are socially connected and politically enlightened. We are coming out within a coming out movement. We openly march in pride parades and table at educational events. We have a sense of humor as “fruits and nuts” and proclaim “we’re here, we’re queer and we’re crazy, too.” Can I help you start Pink & Blue peer support in your community? It works for my recovery. Name, Claim, Tame and Frame It!!!

Adapted from published story in “Principles and Practice of Psychiatric Rehabilitation” by Corrigan, P., Mueser, K., Bond, G., Drake, R., Solomon, P. Edit by Pink & Blues member Lynn Woodward and written by Mark A. Davis, Philadelphia - Updated April 28, 2009

*Pink and Blues
Founded January 15, 2003
Meets every Wednesday from 7:00 - 9:00 PM
Doors open at 6:30 - please arrive no later than 7:15
The Church of St. Luke and The Epiphany - Blue Room
330 S. 13th St. (between Spruce and Pine) Philadelphia, PA
Enter church courtyard - go to wheelchair ramp -
enter from single red door on right

Managing Personal Relationships When You Have Bipolar Disorder

[via MSN Health & Fitness]



by Dr. Rob for MSN Health & Fitness


Q: I was recently diagnosed with bipolar disorder. My mood swings have been going on for a number of years and have damaged many of my relationships. I’m on medication now and feel 100 percent better, but I cannot change what’s already happened. Do you have any suggestions on how to best explain my illness to relatives, friends and others?

A: Explaining bipolar disorder can be difficult. There are no specific blood tests or brain imaging scans to reveal the problem. The reason: Bipolar disorder is a malfunction of the brain that causes a varying pattern of behavior. It is only with careful study of a patient's actions and mood changes over many months—even years—are we able to make the diagnosis. Once this conclusion is made, people will need to accept that your problem isn't "all in your head." They should consider mental illness a very real medical condition, like diabetes, heart disease and cancer. Just as those conditions affect a person’s quality of life, so does bipolar disorder.


Read the rest of the answer.

Bi Bi Baby

“One in five HIV-positive individuals
thought of suicide in past week,
finds U.S. study.”

by Jim Pickett [originally published in Positively Aware July/August 2007]

Shocking as this will sound, I am mentally ill. Please act surprised.

I’ll get to the gories in a second, but long story short, in early March I was diagnosed with depression, which involved a stint in a gay nut house. The Dx got a bit more interesting a few months later when my mental health team—a shrink named Venus and a therapist named David (both of whom I adore)—decided, with me of course, that I was Bipolar 2. Meaning I regularly cycle through periods of manic to depressive behavior, none of which get too bad and don’t include major grandiosity or psychoses during the mania or the inability to leave my bed or crawl out of my cave for days at a time during the depression. So it’s Bipolar Lite, mm, mmmm, less calories but still crazy fun that may wind ya up in the loony bin, fruit loop-flavor.

For a little official context, it’s true that gay people have higher rates of depression and other mental illnesses than the rest of the population, and people with HIV are also blessed with more of the above. So, nope, I’m not alone, and yep, I’m not all that special.

White vans on speed dial

While I believe I have always been empathetic and compassionate regarding issues of mental health and am caring and supportive of friends who are dealing with one thing or another, at some level the whole mental illness thing used to slightly freak me out, make me a bit uncomfortable. Like I had to have my guard up around “them” because, well, ya just never know when the cuckoo bananas bird is gonna yodel. Should one have the white van on speed dial? Tweet, tweet, hey, beep beep!

Now of course I am officially diagnosed as one of “them” and damn if it doesn’t feel like an enormous relief. “So that’s why I have felt this way for the better part of my life!”

“I’m not crazy!”

Hold up, I sort of am crazy, but at least there’s a reason, an answer, and help.

Not exactly an airbrushed feelings moment

Getting to that point of sweet relief, however, was absolute torture. Someone you love, desperately so, looking into your eyes and telling you those three little words—“You need help”—is not exactly an airbrushed feelings moment, though it lasts. The recognition that I needed some “help” via the man who was in the weeks-long process of breaking my heart felt shameful, embarrassing, and made me really, really pissed off. Because it was all his fault, dammit. I knew I was unraveling, but I would have stayed nicely raveled, thanks, if he hadn’t pulled one of the many loose threads that kept me together. Men, ugh. But I nodded and muttered, “Yes, I do,” and we made a plan. The plan was that he would be back to pick me up in the morning to take me somewhere for said “help.”

Where-EVER. I wasn’t exactly on board, and pretty much knew I would blow him off in the morning. Help my ass. Help this, mo fo!

Not more than 10 minutes after he left my house, the police arrived. He had called them because he had (good) reason to believe that I was in a bad state and considering doing bad things, or at least one bad thing, to myself. As they were coming down the hall I rang him on his cell and whispered, “Why?” Moments later, the policemen at my door, both super nice and super cute (still noticeable through the haze of suicidal ideation) made it super clear that they had no intention of leaving me alone. Like a sucker I had divulged to them, so nice and cute, that earlier that day, I had indeed been thinking about… Okay, “we’re just doing our job.” Now I either had to call someone who would agree to come over and stay with me—they would wait for this to transpire, drat—or they were going to take me “somewhere to talk to someone.”

Naively I got in the back seat of the squad thinking I would go some-where and talk to some-one and be home some-time later that evening. It was now 9 p.m. or so, and well, I’d be back in my bed by 11, yeah.

"Meeeeyental eeeyelllnyess"

Woe is the naïve, for he shall remain some-where for some-time to equal three days and three nights, tossing and turning on a plastic bed decidedly less comfy than the one at home. And those days would be filled with group sessions after group sessions, including, yes, art therapy (I have the madness paintings to prove it), punctuated by med times and meal times and a few games of Uno and some decaffeinated coffee, which was one of the greatest horrors of all. Topped at least once by the Evil Counselor Queen (ECQ) who told me privately, after learning I had tried to sign myself out the first morning of my psychiatric getaway spa, all stern with a “don’t mess with Mama” ‘tude, “How dare you! You are meeeeyentalleeee eeeyelll. I don’t want you representin’ me in D.C. with an untreated meeeeyental eeeyelllnyess.”

Yeah, I thought, if we rid D.C. of everyone with untreated psychological disorders there’d be a whole lotta nada in that town. I didn’t say that though, I agreed with him. “Yes, I am mentally ill.” Didn’t want to rustle the feathers of ECQ or anyone else for that matter who could thwart my quest for sweet freedom with an unfortunate notation or 20 in my chart.

I need help.

Bio
Jim Pickett is Director of Advocacy for the AIDS Foundation of Chicago and has been living with HIV for almost 12 years. This fall he is running his 4th marathon to raise funds for HIV/AIDS services via the National AIDS Marathon Training Program.