GUEST BLOG - Rebecca Lombardo Part 2 - Recovery from Self Injury

Hi guys.
This week's blog is a second blog from author, Rebecca Lombardo about her recovery from self injury.
Might contain some details some readers may find upsetting.

Again - get in touch if you'd like to share your story - doesn't matter what experience or lack of experience you have with mental illness, we'd love to hear from you. You can also post your story anonymously. Get in touch with me -

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Rebecca Lombardo is 43 years old and has been happily married for 15 years. She lives in Michigan with her husband and cats. She is a published author, a Huffington Post blogger, and a podcast host. She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at the age of 19. She has battled that as well as several other conditions for over 20 years. In 2013, she attempted suicide. Grateful that she survived, she decided to tell her story in the hopes that she could help others choose a different path. 

My Recovery from Self-injury 

Recovery means many different things to many different people.  It’s a very difficult and personal journey. Not everyone is strong enough to realize they need help, let alone know what to do once they get it.  You often hear people speaking about a place called “Rock Bottom.” The consensus is that to help yourself, you have to realize when you’ve hit the bottom.  Some people take years to get to that point.  Some people never get there.  I’m grateful to say that I am one of those that beat the odds.  I hit that bottom, and I hit it hard.  The most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do was make my way back up. 

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at the age of 19. I started taking medication at that time and still do at 43.  I’ve always been realistic about my condition.  Having attempted to exist without medications, I know that they are a necessary evil.  If I stop taking them, it doesn’t take long for me to fall into a deep, dark depression.  If the physical symptoms of withdrawal don’t kill me first.  

I’m logical enough to understand that I will never fully recover from bipolar disorder, and I’m OK with that.  Some people have to take medication for the rest of their lives for diabetes or heart disease.  So, I don’t burden myself with the thought of getting better.  Don’t get me wrong, I am always trying to improve myself and the way that I feel, but I know that there is no cure for bipolar disorder.  

In my late 20’s I made the mistake of thinking that I might not want to be around anymore.  My depression was beginning to take over my life.  Even relatively normal heartaches seem to affect me much greater than the average person.  I was experiencing migraines that started at the age of 12.  The older I got, the worse they got.  I felt like I had lost complete control over my life, so I was going to try to kill myself.  I was using an old razor, and when I didn’t receive the desired effect, I kept going.  Eventually, I stopped thinking about dying and starting to experience what could only be described as calm.  I had no idea that this was “a thing”.  My mind just kept taking me back to the thought that I was such a failure at life, I couldn’t even commit suicide correctly. 

Eventually, self-injury became a huge part of my life.  I had rituals, songs I played, an entire box of instruments, and a safe place to hide them.  One night, I made a mistake and went too far.  I couldn’t possibly confess to my parents what I was doing, so I did the only thing I thought I could. I called my then (abusive) boyfriend, and asked him for help.  He drove me to his sister’s house because she had once studied to be a medical assistant.  Sitting at her dining room table, she stitched up my arm, with no sanitation and no numbing solution for the pain.  

As I got a little older, self-injury wasn’t necessarily as important to me, but it was always in the back of my mind.  I was humiliated when I would date, and the guy would see my scars.  I was covered with them.  In May of 2001, I officially started dating the man that would become my husband.  He was extremely supportive, but just as confused as anyone else was.  He didn’t understand that I was already beating myself up enough; I didn’t need him to get mad at me for the behavior.  Eventually, we started working through it, and my urges were much less frequent.  

 In fact, I went five years without an incident until 2013.  

Despite the fact that self-injury was no longer a big piece of my life, I still kept some instruments hidden in our house.  When my life went into a full-on tailspin that June, it was the only thing I could think about. Truthfully, once I started again, I was so depressed that I didn’t care if I died.  I just wanted the pain to stop.  With each pass over my skin, I felt a myriad of emotions.  Failure, fear, guilt, and even a small amount of relief.  I couldn’t stop sobbing, and eventually I must have cried myself to sleep because I woke up some time later to my doorbell ringing. My husband had called my family from work and sent my dad and my sister over.  At that point, I was the only one that knew I had also swallowed a full bottle of medication.  

I was admitted to the hospital, and later I was committed by the state.  It was the worst experience I have ever had in my entire life.  It was a horrible, horrible facility.  I played the game and was a model patient.  After four days, they let me out. Driving home from that hellhole with my husband, I swore I would never take another sharp instrument to my skin again.  I pushed all of my past failures to the side. I started a clean slate.  I developed my own coping skills, and I started writing.  I wrote a lot.  It began as a blog but has become a book.  I am proud to say that I’m now a published author.  My book is available on Amazon! I still can’t seem to wrap my head around that! 

Don’t get me wrong, I still have urges.  They may never go away.  However, I know now how to put a voice to my feelings and communicate with my loved ones.  I’m now three years and 2 months clean.  I’m proud of the changes I’ve made in my life.  Of course I wish I had found an easier way to get in this direction.  I wish I could take back all of the pain I caused, but I don’t focus on that anymore.  I’m trying my hardest to focus on the here and now.  I’m getting stronger every day. I’m sharing my story with anyone that will listen in hopes that I can help erase the stigma surrounding mental illness. I consider myself an advocate for mental health, and I truly feel like people can learn from my experiences. Whether you’re struggling with bipolar disorder, self-harm, a suicide attempt, or severe depression, know that I’ve been there. Take my story as a cautionary tale. Don’t follow my path. Be realistic and use your voice. Tell someone…tell everyone how you feel! You don’t have to suffer in silence. My goal is to help more people see that hurting yourself is never the answer. If you learn anything from me, please know that you are capable of so much more.  

 Blog: www.judgmentfreezone2013.blogspot.com
Website: www.rebeccalombardo.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/notyourjourney
Twitter: www.twitter.com/bekalombardo 
Amazon link for the book: http://www.amzn.com/0692509739

GUEST BLOG - Rebecca Lombardo Pt1 - Challenges of being a Bipolar Author

Hi guys,
This week's guest blog is from US Huffington Post blogger and author, Rebecca Lombardo.
This is the first of two blogs from Rebecca - part two will be posted next week.

Here's the usual spiel...anyone interested in guest blogging please get in contact. Please note you can be kept anonymous!
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Rebecca Lombardo is 43 years old and has been happily married for 15 years. She lives in Michigan with her husband and cats. She is a published author, a Huffington Post blogger, and a podcast host. She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at the age of 19. She has battled that as well as several other conditions for over 20 years. In 2013, she attempted suicide. Grateful that she survived, she decided to tell her story in the hopes that she could help others choose a different path. 

The Challenges of Being a Bipolar Author

I’ve spent many, many years dealing with bipolar disorder.  However, I’ve only spent a year as a bipolar author.  All authors face challenges.  Struggling to be published, meeting deadlines, promoting. I am now of the opinion that those of us dealing with bipolar disorder have a different battle to fight.  On the heels of receiving my very first rude and threatening email about my book, I am facing an even greater challenge.  I have to fight to even continue to put myself out there for this type of scrutiny.  I’m constantly trying to tell myself that if I were to give up, the bullies would win.  I can’t do that.  

Take a book signing for example.  I had one last year and going into it, I was terrified.  I’ve never been good at public speaking to begin with.  When you factor in my anxiety issues, I wasn’t sure I would even get through it.  Thankfully, my husband was next to me the entire time.  I think I pulled it off, but I’m not sure how I would have done had there been more people in attendance.  

We all face issues with confidence.  I’m not so naïve that I don’t understand that.  I feel like authors or writers that are not dealing with mental illness may have a leg up in some areas.  In my situation, I am at a stage where I am rarely leaving my house or even my bedroom. I don’t think someone like James Patterson has to contend with such obstacles.  

In my book, I documented my enormous issues with body image and self-esteem. I’ve always been negative about my appearance. Over the years dealing with my depression, I’ve gained more weight than I ever would have imagined. Dealing with bipolar disorder, weight gain, and the possibility of appearing in photos or on television is incredibly daunting. I did one television interview early on, and I can’t even look at the video at this point. It sends me into a deep depression for days.  Even now that I’m on the right path with my health, and I’m down 27 pounds, I still beat myself up for appearing in front of the camera the way I look.

For those of us that happen to feel things much deeper than most people, negative reviews are like a sharp knife to your heart. It’s been an arduous task trying to convince myself that just because not everyone likes it, doesn’t mean I’m a failure…or as one person called me, a selfish narcissist. I never in my wildest dreams thought that putting my story out there in an effort to raise awareness about suicide would be met with such comments. I’m simply trying to help people! 

Granted, I’m no Mother Teresa, but I didn’t join this fight to make myself look good. Quite the contrary.  I wanted to use this platform to tell a cautionary tale, so to speak. To let others know that I made many mistakes along the way, but I am certainly much stronger for learning from those mistakes.  Most of all, people need to understand that having a bad day doesn’t mean you have a bad life.  

So, I’ll take comfort in the fact that there are those that support me.  The mental health community is amazing. I love feeling a sense of camaraderie. As if we’re all here, fighting the same battle and hopefully making a difference.  I’ve met some of the most amazing people in the last year.  As much as I struggle with social anxiety and agoraphobia, it’s such a comfort to know that despite those issues, I may still be able to affect change in the world around me.  

Of course, there are days when it’s extremely difficult to keep focused on the positive.  It’s hard to keep focus at all.  That is one of the main reasons I’ve been rather terrified to sign on to any particular website to write a monthly column.  When I’m depressed, all concentration goes out the window.  It feels as if there’s a movie playing inside my brain on fast forward and I have no idea where the remote is.  When writer’s block sets in, I can’t slow my brain down to come up with a sentence, let alone an entire article.  I’m constantly afraid of letting people down or even letting myself down. The idea of being a failure still rests comfortably on my shoulder.  Ever present and always reminding me of the mistakes I’ve made.  I often make an effort to reach out and help others with whatever they’re working on.  At times, it helps to put my situation into perspective.  The next thing I know, I’m writing again.  

I never know when an idea will hit me.  Last night, it was around 1:30 in the morning.  It’s both a curse and a blessing.  While I’m grateful for the opportunity to put pen to paper, I’m sometimes a slave to my expanded consciousness.  

I realize that I have traditionally been way too hard on myself.  I need to give myself credit once in a while.  If I see someone on TV that is an extremely talented artist, musician, or even a writer, that little voice inside my head is very vocal. I’m forever thinking, “I wish I was
that good at anything!” I’ve beat myself up for so many years, I’m not sure I would know how to be kind.  

I lack confidence on so many levels.  Poor self-esteem is a symptom of depression, but when will I learn to cut myself some slack? I wrote a book and I got it published, and it’s helping people! I have an extremely successful blog and I feel as if I’ve earned the respect of many others in the mental health community, at least on social media!  So, when do I stop and give myself a little pat on the back? I carry burdens that many people wouldn’t be able to shoulder for very long.  I fight a battle inside my head (and my heart) from the minute I get up in the morning.  

Perhaps now is the time to remember that despite the challenges of being an author and having bipolar disorder, it can be managed.  I just have to be willing to use a little common sense.  I’ve gotten this far.  I think I’ve probably thrown in the towel once a week for nearly a year, and I’m still going.  I didn’t die when it was all I could think about 3 years ago.  I’m a fighter.  I may not always be able to keep that in mind for myself, but I hope I can impart that wisdom onto others that are lacking in the confidence department.  Sometimes it’s OK to just exist.  If you’re facing a challenge due to your mental illness, let it be your moment to shine!  No matter how scary it is, you have to face it head on.  If you can’t be realistic about your situation on Tuesday, give yourself some time.  Maybe on Friday you can knock it out of the park.