“The presence of evil was something to be first recognized, then dealt with, survived, outwitted, triumphed over.” ― Toni Morrison, Sula
I have not had a major bipolar episode while in my year at Karis, and I do not fear them as much as I have prior to being a part of this Community.
Chaos has been the nature of my upbringing, of adolescence, of womanhood. Chemical imbalance imploding my brain, throwing Molotov cocktails at my heart, melting my spirit. Though my capacity for empathy and depth of love has always prevailed. No matter how beaten down, run ragged, dragged through the barren wasteland of my illness, my heart reigns true. As does yours. This being the inherent beauty of the mentally ill community.
I am bipolar. I am psychosis. I am addiction. I am anxiety. I am post-traumatic stress. I am mistakes. I am failure. I am lost. I am abandoned.
Karis has helped me to forge a path of forgiveness, of self-love, of perseverance. I am not defined by the aforementioned diagnoses or self-inflicted limiting beliefs. I have those diagnoses, but they are not the overarching theme of my journey. My journey is marked by triumph in the face of adversity, of laughter and light peaking through the indigo of storm clouds and echoing through the hearts of those whom I love and love me. The stories I have resonated with here, in my home at Karis Community, the people, the tears, the laughs, the love have enlightened me to believe in myself again. Believe in myself for the first time.
My symptoms presented themselves at an early age. They cycle with the seasons. Springtime was marked by hypomanic festivities, creative flow, boundless energy, and a keen desire for adventure. Summer followed briskly, at first undetectably spiking, being praised for success, beauty, speed, and quick wit. Then, the thrill-seeking would inevitably culminate in devout delusions of grandeur. Placing myself and others in danger under the guise of euphoria. In reality, it was the unforgiving blow of mania and psychosis. I would end up in psychiatric units for any period of time between two weeks to a month. In the fall, as I came down from psychosis, I would transition from anxious episodes to lulled subordination. By winter (I refer to this as my period of hibernation), I’d find myself locked away in a shroud of living death in depression.
Karis almost immediately felt like my home, my comfort, my safe space. We have freedom; we are treated with dignity and respect as equals. We are seen by the spark of our individual personalities, wants, and needs, judged not by the debilitating realities of our respective illnesses.
Since I was 16, I have been actively resisting the idea of residential treatment, let alone its fruition. I have been hospitalized fifteen to twenty times (a rough estimate) over the past ten years. In self-defense, my memory has blocked out much of this period of my life. Although trauma has its way of sneaking around corners and through blind spots. I so feared that any residential facility would mirror psychiatric wards that I spit on even the possibility. My patterns were to smash into brick walls, be buried by them, and then pick up where I left off in blatant avoidance as if everything was “normal.” Until, inevitably, I dove head-first into another wall.
I would never insult Karis Community with the mark of “residential treatment housing.” Karis almost immediately felt like my home, my comfort, my safe space. We have freedom; we are treated with dignity and respect as equals. We are seen by the spark of our individual personalities, wants, and needs, judged not by the debilitating realities of our respective illnesses. Here, I know that I am seen as a person, defined by my experiences, the unique light that I bring into this world, and not viewed as a chemical imbalance. We have peace and stability. The therapists and social workers who run such a rewarding program (Karis Community) are dedicated, caring, and empathetic individuals whom I have seldom encountered in their profession. We are heard, we are seen, and we are valued in this Community. The staff here are selfless, and wise and will never give up on us as long as we are trying. They have given me a reason to try. The resources provided by staff and the resources they present being here every day are uncanny to any I have encountered. And, similar to many neurodivergent people, I’ve sat in many therapists’ and psychiatrists’ waiting rooms. (Have you ever noticed they all have the same carpets?)
For a long time, I would avoid my therapy appointments or sit there in silent protest, convinced there was nothing anyone could really say to change my life and help me. They always said the same things. I’ve never felt this way in a Karis Community therapy group. I have discovered more about myself in the year I have lived here than I believe I ever have before. A statement that, although it may sound grandiose, is true. The individual check-ins provide a foundation of trust and an unwavering framework for growth and upward mobility on the path to independence. In these individual sessions, I have been able to more closely and personally examine my patterns of self-sabotage and self-loathing and begin to enable my inner critic to forgive herself, see beauty in herself, give herself grace, and reignite her passion for color and life.
Karis has instilled in me a valiant truth. My life is not over. I am worthy of life. I am worthy of loving myself. I am worthy of health. I am worthy of peace in my future. The chaos is not definitive of who I am nor the paths I may walk.
In my home at Karis Community, I feel free, in a way I genuinely never have before amongst other people, to be myself, no matter which self my illness has portrayed of its own volition that day. Though personal space is respected, I do not feel the need to hide from my fellow Community Members when hypomania or depression rear their ugly heads. I am starting to free myself from the bonds of that illness, to learn how to combat its boa-like constrictions, and to stop wallowing in pain and fighting for my happiness. Yet, for the days when I am lost in the fog again when others have called me “a lot” or “too much,” my fellow Community Members are there for me. I have never, genuinely never, felt judged in this household. In this hearth. In this home. I could approach any Community Member here, regardless of how close our friendship may be, and find solace and understanding. We are there for each other. We all understand, to whatever extent, the trials and woes of mental illness and trauma.
After you have been a part of Karis Community for thirty days, we do a “communal review.” We record it by passing around that individual member’s phone, and each Community Member gives praise to that person for their unique and positive impact on our Community.
At the end of my review, I gave a message to myself. “Yo dude, These people are really beautiful and special. And you’re in a safe place. And you’re stable. And please, hang onto that feeling. Cause you’re worth that.”
Karis has instilled in me a valiant truth. My life is not over. I am worthy of life. I am worthy of loving myself. I am worthy of health. I am worthy of peace in my future. The chaos is not definitive of who I am nor the paths I may walk.
Your life is not over. Whether or not you join our Community. You are beautiful. You are resilient. You are loved.
Cassie W-R, Community Member
Absolutely love the positivity of this Community Member!