"From Despair to Hope"
Theresa Dolata
Sunday, September 30 2007

As Father Debruycker mentioned my name is Theresa Dolata. I am named after St Theresa of the little flowers. But trust me I am not a Saint. As a comedian, I am accustomed to keeping things short. So, I do not see any problems today staying within the time limit. How is everyone doing today? I am doing very well. And now I can honestly say that and mean it. Is there anyone suffering from mental health issues or knows of someone suffering from mental health issues? Well I would first like to say you are not alone and how blessed we all are to be alive and here today. As a child who was raised in a strict Roman Catholic family and blessed with the guilt that comes along with it, I thought it was all, my fault. I was wired wrong. I was dysfunctional. I was the leper of my family. I was hidden in a closet with my secret, the secret of mental illness.

It was not very long ago when I thought all life was valuable except my own because I suffer from a debilitating illness. With my diagnosis being mixed bi-polar, I thought that valuable life just did not apply to me. I did not receive the mixed bi-polar diagnosis until I was 31 years old although I have had suicidal thoughts since the age of 5. AGE FIVE!

Although I did not know what death and dying was all about, I would pray to the Golden Sun God every morning against the golden brick wall at school. The shining Sun beaming down on my little face, “Oh, Golden Sun God, make me disappear into this golden brick wall forever; I’m sure nobody would notice that I was gone.” Every morning Monday through Friday, I would make that prayer.

In first grade my favorite uncle died in an auto accident, that was when I first learned about death and that all this time I had been wishing to be dead (a.k.a. suicidal.) The older I got the more symptoms appeared. The first major symptom was OCD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder that I developed in third grade. While suicidal thoughts haunted me daily through first, second and into third grade. I had to develop this too. And what may you ask was my obsessive compulsion…one of the common ones…Ok …don’t know…Hand washing… (or that’s right… hand washing : depending on audience response.) I washed my hands till they bled. Hand washing was an art to me and a pain to my parents. My hands became so chapped that my mom had to put socks on my hands after loading them up with Mentholatum to stop the bleeding. Fourth grade brought migraines and more suicidal thoughts.

Year after year after year, and people would always say, “Why don’t you smile? You never smile.” And I would think in my head “I can’t smile right now because I am thinking about ways to kill myself.” Then in January of 1989 when I was 14, I lost two people I was very close to. My mom’s parents died 18 days apart from one another. All my symptoms the overt and hidden exploded like a bomb. There was no way I could keep these suicidal feelings to myself. I finally broke down for the first time completely. I could barely get out of bed, lost my appetite; I could not concentrate in school. I was planning the different ways I could end my life and keeping them in a journal. By the time May of 1989 came around I was in my first Psyche ward at a hospital in La Crosse, WI. My parents’ insurance company would only pay if my stay was at a hospital whose primary care was not for people who suffer from mental health issues. And the aftercare, that was not covered at all. NO Meds, NO Psychiatrist, nothing. It was different than when my brother totaled the family car and broke his jaw. All his expenses were covered but not mine because mine were MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES.

After about six months I was completely weaned off the Prozac which was really expensive at that time. My parents and their pocket book were happy about that. For a while I did ok, I was never great even on the Prozac. But then I had a return of symptoms. I had to conceal them the best I could, so I would not end up in that prison for the mentally ill again. I did not want to be behind the barred windows, stripped of my shoelaces and my dignity again.

I was successful until I got to college. My first semester, I fell into a severe depressive state and had trouble getting out of bed and concentrating to study. It got so bad I ended up overdosing on caffeine. Yes, you can overdose on caffeine. Caffeine is a drug.

After that troublesome year, I appealed an expulsion based on my GPA. They let me back in and I found the theater department. I could be other people instead of the mentally ill person I was. I did well up until May of 1996. I had actually started to go down hill in November. I told my mom that I was trying to get help through the City of Madison’s Mental Health Crisis Services in Madison, WI. Except, they would only help me if I was suicidal. THAT was what I was trying to avoid. I got worse day by day. Finally, I had no choice. I went to my supervisor at my part-time job and said, “I need to cut down on school and work full-time so I have health insurance. I have been struggling with a very serious mental illness. If I do not get the help I need soon I am not going to be able to work at all because I will be dead.”

She was in talking to the CEO ASAP about the situation. They agreed to give me enough hours to be considered full-time. I was fully insured by two days when I attempted to hang myself. Obviously, this is one of my more successful failures which was followed by another hospitalization.

Fast forward: February 2005, I am not only depressed, I am manic. I feel worthless, ugly, stupid, unloved, and undeserving. I frantically start searching for my hand carved, handled, silver blade sword that my cousin had hidden from me.

“I am ready to sacrifice my life to God. Where is my sword?” I shout in anger. “Nobody will miss me if I am gone. I can’t keep the struggle going anymore. I can’t live like this anymore. I have never lived, just survived. I am sick of just surviving. You can have all my stuff. I just want my sword.”

That February was when my last hospitalization started. Two months at Abbott, it took most of February and March to get the right medications and the right primary diagnosis for me. I am mixed bi-polar. But that’s not all folks. I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Adult Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Border Line Personality Disorder and history of migraines.

But those labels do not define who I am. I am now a person who knows what a good self-esteem is and has one. I am 33 years old now. I have had to first of all accept my mental illness. I had to be willing to receive help from many resources. But I couldn’t just use them, I had to be willing to work for my mental health. I went from being on my own to being on my own with support. I used to have a case manager but I am doing so well that I do not get that service anymore. I am part of the Mental Illness Ministry here at St Joan of Arc. Not just part of it, but a member of the task force and a support group facilitator. I have my family who are now more educated. I have the support of staff and members at Vail Place on 36th & Hennepin. I have my Spiritual Advisor Sister Lucy Bruskiewicz. I have done the work in therapy and groups. I took responsibility for myself. I wanted to get well. It takes a lot of work. I am an enjoyer of life. I am a writer, photographer, stand-up comedian. I finished four years of college and even though I was not able to finish my performing arts degree I was able to go back to a Tech School and get an associates degree in Massage Therapy.

As a consumer or Pursuer of Wellness, as we call ourselves here, we must educate people about mental health issues. This is important to help reduce STIGMA. We must also keep politically active as consumers, guaranteeing our rights such as health care parity and funding for mental health programs. But don’t think the rest of you are off the hook, we need you and your support as well. We need Healthcare for everyone.

Now, I still feel like all life is valuable. Yes, even mine is. And someday, when I am asked what is my greatest accomplishment the reply is simple. My greatest accomplishment is being alive. God Bless each and every one of you today.