So the good news is that I do not suffer from any sort of openly tragic illness. I do not have cancer or rare heart birth defect that requires constant medical attention.
No. When I get seriously ill from what could potentially be a terminal situation, no meal trains are set up. People don't show up at the door with flowers or offers to take G for the day to let us process what's happening to me.
It's one of the many things that people are afraid to talk about, so it doesn't get addressed, so loved ones are either kept in the dark or pushed so far away with a "I'm fine, don't worry, we've got this." So it isn't really the loved and concerned ones fault for not knowing what to do in such delicate situations. Such things can be miscarriages. Perpetual infertility. Obesity (which, actually, I do obviously suffer from that, but one can successfully argue that meal trains are hardly the soothing support I need on that end...).
And then there is mental illness. The World's Most Giant Elephant in the room that people are finally starting to discuss, mostly in quiet corners, gesturing to that huge animal in the room that may or may not bite. And you don't quite know how to talk to the home owner of this obvious infestation of strange elephants, so you just say hello, and how are you doing, and maybe hope that they decide to address it and maybe sometimes you don't.
Because it's mental illness.
Or maybe people are just so absolutely clueless about mental illness that you finally say, "Hey, here is this elephant in the room..." and people go, "OMG WTF is an elephant doing in here? It doesn't look like an elephant lives in here, how in the world do you hide such a big fucking animal in here?"
Did you know what May is? Did you know it's mental health awareness month? I genuinely didn't. I just did the ol' Google and discovered green is the color in honor of this month.
I did a quick scan of my social media feeds and it is a but a faint blip out there. A few of my friends posted some good things, and then it just disappears. I look at trending news and: nothing. CNN: nothing. Fox News: nothing. Breast Cancer Awareness month you get pink flying everywhere. But with mental illness, you get a nice byline and a celebrity "coming out of the mental illness closet" and then...
*tumbleweeds*
It isn't really talked about and I'm not sure people even want to talk about it, because it's HARD to talk about it.
I actively seek out writers who choose to share their struggles with the world in the hope that their own story will help someone else. Wil Wheaton. Jenny Lawson. Therese Borchard. Those three strangers helped me so much when I was first coming to terms with my condition a decade ago.
But how many of you read their work, which stretches beyond mental health for the first two? Have you even heard of Therese Borchard? I don't blame you; I had to search her out, and searching out information about mental illness isn't exactly the first item on the to do list, y'know?
For such a rampant illness out there, you only get to see it as Somebody Else's Problem. If you don't look directly at it, you don't see it so it isn't there. It's everywhere, if you look. My family and friends have to live with it darn near every day because they either know me or suffer themselves. The 90's rock scene has been inundated with suicides lately. People.com just reported on a Scottish singer who may or may not have taken his own life. Avicii is another one who recently died, but suicide is still a rumor not fact.
And then it fades. With a simple Google, I found Webmd listed 19 celebrities with bipolar disorder, one of many mental maladies out there inflicting chronic pain to millions, depending on your source of statistics. These are the faces of mental illness out there, but it still feels like it isn't even there. Maybe it's because if we talk about it we only talk about it when we are on an up? Perhaps?
It's hard.
No, not for me. Well, yes, for me, but we need to pay attention to the people around the hot mess you can't seem to acknowledge or look away from: the people who love those with mental illness.
I'll speak from my own personal experience. I see the reverberations of my illness radiate out and I see how much damage my suffering can do to the people I love.
And I remain ashamed because I'm a coward. Because, like many people out there, still can't believe that this is a real thing. Even when I'm curled up in a ball in the shower violently sobbing for no apparent reason, I deny that this is A Thing that is out of my control. I have a very hard time admitting that this is a disease, that it is real, that it is debilitating, and that my denial continues to hurt people who just want to love me. And because I have a hard time with it, I assume the rest of the world does too and looks at me with disgust and a wish for me to just walk it off, move on, get over it, etc.
Except I have to find my way out of my shame because this whole life, this whole 25 years of pain, 25 years of horribly hiding my pain, of hurting others as I hurt myself... I don't want to hide on top of taking care of myself. But I'm terrified to come out of my padded room closet because if I do I'm afraid people will look at me like I'm the boogeyman, a weirdo, a.... a monster.
My wonderful husband recently told me that I really ought to stop hiding. That coming out fully instead of dancing around it might bring some acceptance, and perhaps inspire others who insist on silently suffering to come out into the light. I've decided to listen to him. For once.
My name is Lori. I've suffered from depression and anxiety since I was 15 years old, and now I'm a 40 year old suffering from bipolar disorder with a schizo-affective aspect. I'm a mom, wife, sister, daughter, niece, friend.
But I am not a monster. I'm just sick. There is no cure for what I have; just treatment and hope.
I'm currently under treatment.
I currently have hope.
Please know you are not alone, if you suffer directly from mental illness or indirectly by loving someone like me. I may have a long, unending road ahead of me, but I do not walk it alone and I do not walk it without love.
And hey, here's my hand. Take it if you need to. I'll walk with you, too.
No. When I get seriously ill from what could potentially be a terminal situation, no meal trains are set up. People don't show up at the door with flowers or offers to take G for the day to let us process what's happening to me.
It's one of the many things that people are afraid to talk about, so it doesn't get addressed, so loved ones are either kept in the dark or pushed so far away with a "I'm fine, don't worry, we've got this." So it isn't really the loved and concerned ones fault for not knowing what to do in such delicate situations. Such things can be miscarriages. Perpetual infertility. Obesity (which, actually, I do obviously suffer from that, but one can successfully argue that meal trains are hardly the soothing support I need on that end...).
And then there is mental illness. The World's Most Giant Elephant in the room that people are finally starting to discuss, mostly in quiet corners, gesturing to that huge animal in the room that may or may not bite. And you don't quite know how to talk to the home owner of this obvious infestation of strange elephants, so you just say hello, and how are you doing, and maybe hope that they decide to address it and maybe sometimes you don't.
Because it's mental illness.
Or maybe people are just so absolutely clueless about mental illness that you finally say, "Hey, here is this elephant in the room..." and people go, "OMG WTF is an elephant doing in here? It doesn't look like an elephant lives in here, how in the world do you hide such a big fucking animal in here?"
Did you know what May is? Did you know it's mental health awareness month? I genuinely didn't. I just did the ol' Google and discovered green is the color in honor of this month.
I did a quick scan of my social media feeds and it is a but a faint blip out there. A few of my friends posted some good things, and then it just disappears. I look at trending news and: nothing. CNN: nothing. Fox News: nothing. Breast Cancer Awareness month you get pink flying everywhere. But with mental illness, you get a nice byline and a celebrity "coming out of the mental illness closet" and then...
*tumbleweeds*
It isn't really talked about and I'm not sure people even want to talk about it, because it's HARD to talk about it.
I actively seek out writers who choose to share their struggles with the world in the hope that their own story will help someone else. Wil Wheaton. Jenny Lawson. Therese Borchard. Those three strangers helped me so much when I was first coming to terms with my condition a decade ago.
But how many of you read their work, which stretches beyond mental health for the first two? Have you even heard of Therese Borchard? I don't blame you; I had to search her out, and searching out information about mental illness isn't exactly the first item on the to do list, y'know?
For such a rampant illness out there, you only get to see it as Somebody Else's Problem. If you don't look directly at it, you don't see it so it isn't there. It's everywhere, if you look. My family and friends have to live with it darn near every day because they either know me or suffer themselves. The 90's rock scene has been inundated with suicides lately. People.com just reported on a Scottish singer who may or may not have taken his own life. Avicii is another one who recently died, but suicide is still a rumor not fact.
And then it fades. With a simple Google, I found Webmd listed 19 celebrities with bipolar disorder, one of many mental maladies out there inflicting chronic pain to millions, depending on your source of statistics. These are the faces of mental illness out there, but it still feels like it isn't even there. Maybe it's because if we talk about it we only talk about it when we are on an up? Perhaps?
It's hard.
No, not for me. Well, yes, for me, but we need to pay attention to the people around the hot mess you can't seem to acknowledge or look away from: the people who love those with mental illness.
I'll speak from my own personal experience. I see the reverberations of my illness radiate out and I see how much damage my suffering can do to the people I love.
And I remain ashamed because I'm a coward. Because, like many people out there, still can't believe that this is a real thing. Even when I'm curled up in a ball in the shower violently sobbing for no apparent reason, I deny that this is A Thing that is out of my control. I have a very hard time admitting that this is a disease, that it is real, that it is debilitating, and that my denial continues to hurt people who just want to love me. And because I have a hard time with it, I assume the rest of the world does too and looks at me with disgust and a wish for me to just walk it off, move on, get over it, etc.
Except I have to find my way out of my shame because this whole life, this whole 25 years of pain, 25 years of horribly hiding my pain, of hurting others as I hurt myself... I don't want to hide on top of taking care of myself. But I'm terrified to come out of my padded room closet because if I do I'm afraid people will look at me like I'm the boogeyman, a weirdo, a.... a monster.
My wonderful husband recently told me that I really ought to stop hiding. That coming out fully instead of dancing around it might bring some acceptance, and perhaps inspire others who insist on silently suffering to come out into the light. I've decided to listen to him. For once.
My name is Lori. I've suffered from depression and anxiety since I was 15 years old, and now I'm a 40 year old suffering from bipolar disorder with a schizo-affective aspect. I'm a mom, wife, sister, daughter, niece, friend.
But I am not a monster. I'm just sick. There is no cure for what I have; just treatment and hope.
I'm currently under treatment.
I currently have hope.
Please know you are not alone, if you suffer directly from mental illness or indirectly by loving someone like me. I may have a long, unending road ahead of me, but I do not walk it alone and I do not walk it without love.
And hey, here's my hand. Take it if you need to. I'll walk with you, too.
Love you my sister!
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