Mental illness. When you hear those words, what do you think? Who do you picture? Do you think of the news stories in which those who may or may not have a mental illness do horrific things? Or, do you think about your neighbor, friend, and/or family member? Because, odds are, someone very close to you has or will have some form of mental illness.
What is mental illness, then? According to the National Association of Mental Illness (NAMI), "Mental illnesses are medical conditions that disrupt a person's thinking, feeling, mood, ability to relate to others and daily functioning. Just as diabetes is a disorder of the pancreas, mental illnesses are medical conditions that often result in a diminished capacity for coping with the ordinary demands of life."
The prevalence rate (or the rate at which people are diagnosed) currently resides at 5-6% for those diagnosed with a clinical (as in, long-term) mental disorder (source: NAMI). Despite the high prevalence rate, negative perceptions of people who have mental illness still exists, including: violent and in need of regulation (per the NRA) and faking it to get attention (something that we often hear, unfortunately).
It's distressing to go through a period of high anxiety and/or depression only to have those around you - who should be your support group - run away in fear/confusion or tell you that what you're feeling doesn't exist. Allie at Hyperbole and a Half does a great job of showing this in her most recent post on depression.
*****
When I was pregnant with my first child, I got very sick. So sick that I lost weight and had to have several rounds of IV's in order to have some nutrition running through my veins. When people heard about my so-called morning sickness their reactions ranged from, "Try this, it will help!" (it didn't) to "if you just tried to think positively..." (which, SURPRISE, also didn't help). It was painful to be puking all day long and know that people thought I was faking it. But when I went to my physician, they didn't question my condition - later diagnosed as hyperemesis gravidarum - and, in fact, gave me great information regarding how to survive the however many weeks I'd feel like crap.
The internet has helped disseminate information about the condition I suffered through. In my other pregnancies I felt much more supported by those around me. Rather than distrust for what I was experiencing, people expressed sympathy. It was great.
Sadly, my experience with mental illness has been vastly different.
Talking to a physician about what I'm feeling is awful. Typically it involves convincing them that I'm not lying, that I do indeed have massive anxiety all the time and that I'm not just trying to get drugs. Or that I really do feel down and like I want to just disappear all the freaking time.
When I've shared with people that I am mentally ill, they react in ways that lead me to believe I am doing something wrong. The self-shaming on top of what I'm already feeling is too much. I've learned to just hide my illness from people because hiding it is easier than having people look at me odd or act differently around me when they discover what should be an innocuous fact.
I feel the stigma of mental illness quite profoundly. I feel it when I hear the NRA and/or people in the US Congress suggest a registry for mentally ill (top of page 3). I feel it when I hear of another news story in which a mentally ill person committed a violent crime, despite the fact that people without mental illness commit violent crimes more often than those with mental illness. I feel it when people around me casually misuse mentally ill to describe those with whom they disagree and/or don't understand. It's hard to exist in a society that thinks you should be locked up just because your brain is wired differently (not wrongly) than those around you. It's even harder when you know your job, your relationships, your well-being are in jeopardy when people discover your secret.
And how do we stop it? I don't know. Bravery is great until you face hatred for disclosing an uncomfortable fact about yourself.
Hiding in Plain Sight
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Monday, May 6, 2013
An Open Letter to Anxiety
Dear Anxiety,
Thank you for all you've done for me in my life.
Because of you, I've led a very successful life. Your wonderful messages of, "you suck, work harder," have led to hours of constant worry that I would live my life out of a paper bag if I didn't do this project just right. So I would work and work and work throughout my long school career, often choosing work over play because, you know, FAILURE was not an option. I would spend my breaks in constant fear that I had messed something up and would inevitably not graduate elementary school, middle school, high school, and college.
Because of you, I've led a very successful life. Your wonderful messages of, "you suck, work harder," have led to hours of constant worry that I would live my life out of a paper bag if I didn't do this project just right. So I would work and work and work throughout my long school career, often choosing work over play because, you know, FAILURE was not an option. I would spend my breaks in constant fear that I had messed something up and would inevitably not graduate elementary school, middle school, high school, and college.
The obsessive nature of your illness has helped greatly in my life. As I've obsessed about germs and clean dishes and washing my hands and perfect papers and characteristics like honesty and modesty and other things that society and my family taught me, I led a very straightforward life. I would stay the course because Hell and/or disease would overcome me otherwise. And then I would obsess that I had done everything wrong so would subsequently repeatedly repent and punish myself in various ways (can't eat this or can't read that) in response. You have ensured that I will live my life as straight as an arrow.
Alright. So, maybe, I couldn't relax and enjoy life, but life isn't about enjoyment! It's about rules. That's what you taught me. Rules were the only way to live life and I should follow them exactly. Rules like how much time I must spend doing homework, how much TV I could watch, how many pieces of chocolate I could eat, the thoughts I could have, and the hours I could and couldn't sleep. Those rules kept me in line.
And, finally, your helpful social suggestions were essential for my social well being. I mean, there is nothing quite like staying up for hours after social engagements worried about whether I had said the wrong thing, offended this person, wore the right clothes, etc. You taught me that limiting my interactions with other people was the best and only way to get through life. Well done.
Sincerely,
The Constant Worrier
Sincerely,
The Constant Worrier
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
A Not-So-Hip Illness
Today's post is a guest submission from Analisa. When I first read it, I cried. Her experience is achingly familiar to me and probably will strike a chord for all those who experience some form of mental illness.
Adverts
by Analisa
I do a lot of walking for work. I rush by looking at all the advertisements covering large spaces of walls in a blur of color when I’m late. When I have time to, I like to look at them because they are mostly not the usual adverts of Shampoo or thin model for shoes, but of the up lifting kind. “Women: the greatest natural untapped resource.” “Wrote a book about living while dying.” “Serve: he did on and off the court.” “Red dress for women. They have more heart attacks than men—raise awareness and money.” “Buy pink martinis for breast cancer research and awareness.” Salute the troops “Until they are all home.”
Adverts
by Analisa
I do a lot of walking for work. I rush by looking at all the advertisements covering large spaces of walls in a blur of color when I’m late. When I have time to, I like to look at them because they are mostly not the usual adverts of Shampoo or thin model for shoes, but of the up lifting kind. “Women: the greatest natural untapped resource.” “Wrote a book about living while dying.” “Serve: he did on and off the court.” “Red dress for women. They have more heart attacks than men—raise awareness and money.” “Buy pink martinis for breast cancer research and awareness.” Salute the troops “Until they are all home.”
While all of these
causes are note worthy I’ve always feel terrible about my illness. No one has a nice moniker for being mentally
ill. No one has walks or parties or paraphernalia
for being mentally ill. I’m sure those
highly motive individuals who run these great organizations would suggest that
I’m the perfect candidate to start something.
The thing is my illness leaves me with such limited energy I couldn’t
stand to wasted it on something I could never finish. I understand what an undertaking these
organizations can be while some days I can’t even get out of my bed. So I continue to rush by and look at the
newest advert for different causes while my resentment continues to grow
because I do not have a “hip” illness.
One day I realized a new poster for a military promo. A man
sitting on a cot with the words “You can’t see all scars.” My breath catches with excitement, this is
it, this is what I have been waiting for.
It may not be mental illness altogether, but I will take PTSD, after all
that is definitely a mental problem even if they are putting as only a military
problem. The more I look the advert over
I soon realize how wrong I am. The
soldier’s eyes are showing pain, but on his forehead is a big scar. I immediately see what the advert is trying
to express that is so difficult for others to grasp. You must have a physical injury in order to
have something wrong with you. Sure, he
has PTSD, but everyone wouldn’t know that by the pain in his eyes; he must have
a scar so that we know something is wrong.
I think this may be the most frustrating part as I have incredible
physical health. It has helped me hide
my problems so well. This advert has hit
me with a double whammy of disappointment from not displaying my illness
correctly and reinforcing a stereotype.
As I went to write this I wanted to make sure of what it
said; I realize I avoid that hallway at work, so I don’t have to be
disappointed all over again. I was
surprised at how much this advert affected me. I know most of the time the
tricks, but you can’t always hide from the responses they get you to feel.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Gratitude Schmatitude
It's November. Time to tell other people to be grateful, right? Apparently some people think so. A common theme I have found among my peers who have depression is being pressured into writing daily gratitude lists and/or a journal by family and/or friends. The reasoning is this, if the person expresses gratitude, then their depression will go away. While these family and/or friends have good intentions, their logic is quite flawed.
In doing a quick search of academic articles, I found no studies to corroborate the suggested negative correlation - or the idea that as gratitude increases, depression decreases - between the two. Instead, I found many studies that suggest when a person thinks their families and/or friends adhere to common misconceptions regarding depression and how to "cure" it, that person's depression increased, they were less likely to take their medications, and some were more likely to develop suicide ideation (i.e. the desire to commit suicide) (Tam, Foo, and Lee, 2011; Sirey, et al., 2001; and Yang and Clum, 2010).
I did find plenty of articles that suggest gratitude can help mental health. However, many of these are faulty for two reasons: (1) they use unscientific measures and claim spurious results and (2) they focus on mentally healthy populations which means their results cannot realistically apply to those with depression.
I'm a big believer in being grateful. Really, I am. There is so much poverty and war and disease and death and other tragic things that exist in the world that remind me of how truly lucky I am to live where I live. I try to live a life in which I recognize my privilege of living in a wealthy country. But I don't believe that gratitude will ease my depression, neither do I believe that pressuring my friends and/or family members into writing contrived gratitude lists will help heal their depressive symptoms. In fact, there was a period not too long ago that I did try and compose daily gratitude lists to ease the darkness and hopelessness I felt. Rather than help, this activity led to more thoughts of suicide and even deeper sorrow than before I started.
Does this mean I won't participate in November's thank fest? No, I will; on my own terms. Besides, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Depression won't take that away from me.
References
Tam, Foo, and Lee (2011). The Association Between Perceived Social Support, Socio-Economic Status and Mental Health in Young Malaysian Adults. See PubMed.
Sirey, et al. (2001). Stigma as a Barrier to Recovery: Perceived Stigma and Patient-Rated Severity of Illness as Predictors of Antidepressant Drug Adherence. See Pyschiatry Online.
Yang and Clum (2010). Life Stress, Social Support, and Problem-Solving Skills Predictive of Depressive Symptoms, Hopelessness, and Suicide Ideation in an Asian Student Population: A Test of a Model. See Suicide and Life-Threatening Behavior.
In doing a quick search of academic articles, I found no studies to corroborate the suggested negative correlation - or the idea that as gratitude increases, depression decreases - between the two. Instead, I found many studies that suggest when a person thinks their families and/or friends adhere to common misconceptions regarding depression and how to "cure" it, that person's depression increased, they were less likely to take their medications, and some were more likely to develop suicide ideation (i.e. the desire to commit suicide) (Tam, Foo, and Lee, 2011; Sirey, et al., 2001; and Yang and Clum, 2010).
I did find plenty of articles that suggest gratitude can help mental health. However, many of these are faulty for two reasons: (1) they use unscientific measures and claim spurious results and (2) they focus on mentally healthy populations which means their results cannot realistically apply to those with depression.
I'm a big believer in being grateful. Really, I am. There is so much poverty and war and disease and death and other tragic things that exist in the world that remind me of how truly lucky I am to live where I live. I try to live a life in which I recognize my privilege of living in a wealthy country. But I don't believe that gratitude will ease my depression, neither do I believe that pressuring my friends and/or family members into writing contrived gratitude lists will help heal their depressive symptoms. In fact, there was a period not too long ago that I did try and compose daily gratitude lists to ease the darkness and hopelessness I felt. Rather than help, this activity led to more thoughts of suicide and even deeper sorrow than before I started.
Does this mean I won't participate in November's thank fest? No, I will; on my own terms. Besides, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Depression won't take that away from me.
References
Tam, Foo, and Lee (2011). The Association Between Perceived Social Support, Socio-Economic Status and Mental Health in Young Malaysian Adults. See PubMed.
Sirey, et al. (2001). Stigma as a Barrier to Recovery: Perceived Stigma and Patient-Rated Severity of Illness as Predictors of Antidepressant Drug Adherence. See Pyschiatry Online.
Yang and Clum (2010). Life Stress, Social Support, and Problem-Solving Skills Predictive of Depressive Symptoms, Hopelessness, and Suicide Ideation in an Asian Student Population: A Test of a Model. See Suicide and Life-Threatening Behavior.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Breaking Down the Wall
There was a brief moment in my life when things felt balanced. The patience I had so carefully honed in preparation for motherhood was readily available for my kids, my husband, my friends, and my associates. I thought I was "healed."
Then reality struck.
Myths abound when it comes to mental health struggles. There was one in particular that I believed: the depression and anxiety I was feeling would eventually heal if I did everything right. So I took my medication regularly, I wrote lists of gratitude, I practiced deep breathing, and felt good for awhile. Almost a year. And then life took one of it's many twists and turns and I found myself back in the place I thought I had escaped.
Except things were different this time. After years of quiet struggle - questioning, worrying, and bullying myself into believing I was clearly an evil person who could never be changed - I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression. The specific diagnoses have changed over the past year but the reality remains: my desperate pleading for peace wouldn't come just by praying it away, nor should I continuously punish myself for things that were beyond my control. Like any medical condition, I needed to take care of my physical and mental health so I could live the best life possible.
Suffering silently doesn't become me. I want to break down the wall of stigmatization that society has built around those who struggle with mental illness. Even mentioning the words "mental illness" are enough to shut down communication amongst associates because people are vastly uneducated about what mental illness really means and unaware of how people with mental illness live day to day. I imagine most of this ignorance derives from popular media representations of mental hospitals, schizophrenia, and depression. There are countless songs, movies, and books devoted to those who are "crazy" which perpetuate the fear.
I've lived a fairly successful life because of or in spite of (my perspective varies by how I'm feeling that day) my mental illnesses. It's time to reclaim my existence from those who've told me I need to hide who I am; living authentically and living out loud is more important than shielding people from my reality.
Then reality struck.
Myths abound when it comes to mental health struggles. There was one in particular that I believed: the depression and anxiety I was feeling would eventually heal if I did everything right. So I took my medication regularly, I wrote lists of gratitude, I practiced deep breathing, and felt good for awhile. Almost a year. And then life took one of it's many twists and turns and I found myself back in the place I thought I had escaped.
Except things were different this time. After years of quiet struggle - questioning, worrying, and bullying myself into believing I was clearly an evil person who could never be changed - I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression. The specific diagnoses have changed over the past year but the reality remains: my desperate pleading for peace wouldn't come just by praying it away, nor should I continuously punish myself for things that were beyond my control. Like any medical condition, I needed to take care of my physical and mental health so I could live the best life possible.
Suffering silently doesn't become me. I want to break down the wall of stigmatization that society has built around those who struggle with mental illness. Even mentioning the words "mental illness" are enough to shut down communication amongst associates because people are vastly uneducated about what mental illness really means and unaware of how people with mental illness live day to day. I imagine most of this ignorance derives from popular media representations of mental hospitals, schizophrenia, and depression. There are countless songs, movies, and books devoted to those who are "crazy" which perpetuate the fear.
I've lived a fairly successful life because of or in spite of (my perspective varies by how I'm feeling that day) my mental illnesses. It's time to reclaim my existence from those who've told me I need to hide who I am; living authentically and living out loud is more important than shielding people from my reality.
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