I am mentally ill (unlocked)
I am 31. I have been unable to work since March of 2008, when I had a breakdown at work. Since then, I've had to change doctors, when the first one treated me like an idiot, laughed at me, and generally was completely unprofessional. I've attended a program that was good when I was in it, but left me with no followup. When that ended in August of 2008, I floundered - including an epic fail of a return-to-work forced by the insurance company - until December, when I finally got in to see someone at the local mental health clinic. That was limited treatment, with no real followup available. I have also attended a sexual abuse survivor's group to try to cope with some of the memories - that was not the best choice for me at the time, but I completed it.
During this time, my insurance company has threatened to stop benefits - the only thing allowing me to live on my own as living with someone else would be disastrous for my recovery - because of paperwork. They've demanded tests or anything to prove that I'm still unable to work. Unfortunately, my illness - my disability - doesn't work like that. There is no blood test, no x-ray, no MRI, no exploratory surgery to determine if I'm better or worse.
I am mentally ill. I'm not crazy, or lazy, or stupid. I am mentally ill.
I suffer from a trio of unbelievably difficult to deal with (yet altogether too common) mental illnesses. I have major depressive disorder, moderate, recurrent - meaning that I have periods of clinical depression, a lot. I have Borderline Personality Disorder - which simply put, is a disorder that revolves around emotional disregulation - I can have manic and depressive episodes in one day, or completely shut off all emotions to cope. The biggest, most aggravating and most seemingly hopeless illness is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) - take your worst nightmare, multiply the fear by 1000, and relive it over and over and over. I also am trying to deal with severe anxiety issues. I will detail a bit further in this post what living with these illnesses is like.
I have finally connected with a good psychiatrist, he's supportive, intelligent and actually speaks to me like I'm a smart person. He's determined to help me through this, so I can have my life back. On the road to finding this doctor, I had an appointment with one who, within a 40 minute appointment, disregarded my depression diagnosis, and the PTSD diagnosis, stating that I wasn't that ill if I was still living on my own. He knew what depression was, you see, because his daughter died last year - it was obvious I didn't have it. He also tried pressuring me into taking a diet pill that helped with emotional lability, not because I needed help with feeling stable, but because I was fat. I almost didn't put in a request for another psychiatrist, but I'm glad I did.
In July, my father passed away after living with ALS (Lou Gehrig's Disease). I had lots of unresolved issues with my father that I never got to work through with him - his ALS affected his frontal lobe and his ability to understand complex situations. Besides, I'd be viewed as the awful daughter to dare to get angry with him for fucking up when I was a kid. The poor man is sick, never mind his mistakes, his transgressions as a father! I was dutiful during his illness, I went for visits, even for a weekend to look after him while my stepmother attended a weekend conference. Before he got really ill, he visited me for a few days. Now he's gone, and at the funeral, I had to listen to people say what a great father he was, how he was this caring, attentive dad who really loved his children. I don't know that man. I never did. And I'm angry that I had to participate in the love-fest for a man I was so angry with.
During the period around my father's funeral, my stepmother's family was there. She asked me before I came down to not mention that I was off work for mental illness. I had to lie to her family members and say that I was working when I haven't been and keep my extreme emotional and physical distress hidden in order to "fit in" with her strait-laced family. I couldn't be an embarrassment if no one knew! I did tell one of her cousins who was always pretty cool when she lived down the street. Her response to me was to watch Auntie Mame and remember that "You gotta live!"
I have attempted to reach out to my stepmother previously, as we were working together to find solutions for things my dad was dealing with during his illness. I told her that for most of my adult life, I have been suicidal. I think about it every day, without fail. Being who I am, I said I'm in treatment, she didn't need to worry, I was okay. Her response was, "Oh, I'm not worried about that at all. Now, what do you think we can do about your dad's diet?" Statements that invalidate me, my pain, what I'm going through are still happening when I try to reach out.
I saw my psychiatrist today and told him that my father passed away; my benefits have been terminated as of August 31st unless paperwork proving I am still incapable of returning to work are submitted; that I have to move; and that I still can't deal with anything outside of the corner where my computer sits. When I leave the house, I can barely make it anywhere without a severe anxiety attack, verging on panic. Even the thought of leaving the house is taxing. I told my doctor that I haven't eaten much in about a month, partly because I had no money left with two trips to Calgary after my dad died, but also because I had no appetite most of the time. I'm supposed to be drinking meal replacement shakes, but they're gross and so I don't. I've fallen into a really, really deep depression. I'll go days without showering because - why bother?! My kitchen is, to put it bluntly, in a state of squalor. I'm unable to use my kitchen sink, my counter tops, my stove. My fridge is full of spoiled food because I haven't eaten it. My living room is a mess of clothing, garbage and empty pop cans that has spilled into the hallway and bathroom. My bedroom is mostly untouched because I can't stand being in there. I take medication to help me sleep - if I didn't I would be on the couch every night. I have cats that I love to pieces, but I can't even seem to get up the caring to make sure they have clean litter boxes until the smell wafts down the hall. Water bowls have run dry, and food dishes empty. I feel guilty and horrible, but every time I walk into the kitchen, I panic. This is related to my PTSD, and the anxiety that drives it up is related to that as well.
I've heard a lot of people tell me to "just get over it" or "just kick it in the ass, tell it (depression, PTSD, BPD) that it won't rise again" or "I just decided I wasn't going to be depressed anymore and it worked!" People like my sister, my ex boyfriend, my case manager at the insurance company, my stepmother.
Depression - and I mean real depression, not that down-in-the-dumps kind of sadness you might experience; the depression that drags you down from everything and everyone, leaving you feeling numb and empty or suicidal (or both); the depression that changes you, your relationships and your life - isn't something I can turn off with a snap of my fingers, or a spoonful of sugar. It doesn't work that way. If it did, there'd be no therapists in business, no drug companies with anti-depressants and sedatives. If it did work that way, I wouldn't be writing this.
Borderline Personality Disorder, a misunderstood, contested mental illness, kind of a catch-all diagnosis for those who don't fit anywhere else. My relationships with most people are intense, rocky, off-and-on, love-hate kind of things. I don't have patience for people who won't make an effort, so I cut them off. Things to me are very black and white, it is, or it isn't. As a result, I'm quite alone in my life, having gotten terribly talented at pushing people away and shutting off.
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - I hate this, I hate it so much. It isn't just soldiers that get it, and it can appear decades after the trauma happened. I was severely abused as a child, and had repeated abuses as an adult. My life was threatened, my innocence completely stolen, and I was left to try and cope with it alone. I have had problems with insomnia since I was about 12 years old, surviving most nights on about 3 hours of sleep, usually interrupted by waking up. I have a "mild" eating disorder, which has gotten worse as I've gotten older, resulting in major weight gain and weight loss - the latter usually viewed as "fantastic!" even though I lost about 60lbs in 2 months in early 2008 and continued to drop it. My current psychiatrist is the only one who's been terribly concerned - he's the one who put me on the meal replacement shakes. I have hyperawareness and it causes me to jump at sudden noises - like the next door neighbour slamming his door, or people in public laughing loudly, or even unexpected noise when the cat jumps up somewhere. I have regular anxiety attacks, and sometimes panic attacks, while attempting to do normal things, like wash dishes (all related to my childhood abuse). I suffer from "unexplained" pain in my muscles, my joints and my stomach. I have IBS, which makes eating certain things an adventurous undertaking. I have been known to lose my voice suddenly when I'm under immense amounts of stress. I lose the ability to concentrate, think clearly, follow instructions and make decisions. This makes working a very difficult endeavour, as most employers require all of those things to rely on employees to complete tasks. It makes living my life like walking through a (hypothetical) minefield. I really don't know what's going to trigger me next - a book, a song, a movie, a comment from someone who has no clue what my life has been like.
If you know me, you already know someone who is mentally ill. You likely know more than just one person with mental illness, but not everyone is as open with it as I've chosen to be. I've described my life as it is right now, isolated, and living in a house that is likely very unhealthy, but I have no real way out right now. I've opened my door a little bit to let you in.
All I ask is that you don't tell someone suffering from depression or other mental illnesses to just get over it. That's like telling a patient with incurable cancer if they wish hard enough, they'll be well. It just doesn't work that way. Mental illness is very real, whether you see physical signs or not. It is real, it exists, and it's exhausting enough to cope with without being told to just buck up, sunshine! If you know someone with mental illness, the best thing you can do for them is to try to understand their situation, and be supportive of whatever they choose to do. Step in if you feel they are a danger to themselves or others and need help, but be there when you can. It's amazing how much I appreciated my brother dropping off food for me the other week. You don't have to devote all of your time to helping them - and likely, if they are like me, they would feel smothered, and less capable of making decisions for themselves. Having mental illness doesn't need to be a death sentence - but it can be if it isn't treated properly. The mentally ill aren't crazy, or stupid, or lazy. You don't know how they got that way, but they did, and they deserve help and love and support as much as anyone.
During this time, my insurance company has threatened to stop benefits - the only thing allowing me to live on my own as living with someone else would be disastrous for my recovery - because of paperwork. They've demanded tests or anything to prove that I'm still unable to work. Unfortunately, my illness - my disability - doesn't work like that. There is no blood test, no x-ray, no MRI, no exploratory surgery to determine if I'm better or worse.
I am mentally ill. I'm not crazy, or lazy, or stupid. I am mentally ill.
I suffer from a trio of unbelievably difficult to deal with (yet altogether too common) mental illnesses. I have major depressive disorder, moderate, recurrent - meaning that I have periods of clinical depression, a lot. I have Borderline Personality Disorder - which simply put, is a disorder that revolves around emotional disregulation - I can have manic and depressive episodes in one day, or completely shut off all emotions to cope. The biggest, most aggravating and most seemingly hopeless illness is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) - take your worst nightmare, multiply the fear by 1000, and relive it over and over and over. I also am trying to deal with severe anxiety issues. I will detail a bit further in this post what living with these illnesses is like.
I have finally connected with a good psychiatrist, he's supportive, intelligent and actually speaks to me like I'm a smart person. He's determined to help me through this, so I can have my life back. On the road to finding this doctor, I had an appointment with one who, within a 40 minute appointment, disregarded my depression diagnosis, and the PTSD diagnosis, stating that I wasn't that ill if I was still living on my own. He knew what depression was, you see, because his daughter died last year - it was obvious I didn't have it. He also tried pressuring me into taking a diet pill that helped with emotional lability, not because I needed help with feeling stable, but because I was fat. I almost didn't put in a request for another psychiatrist, but I'm glad I did.
In July, my father passed away after living with ALS (Lou Gehrig's Disease). I had lots of unresolved issues with my father that I never got to work through with him - his ALS affected his frontal lobe and his ability to understand complex situations. Besides, I'd be viewed as the awful daughter to dare to get angry with him for fucking up when I was a kid. The poor man is sick, never mind his mistakes, his transgressions as a father! I was dutiful during his illness, I went for visits, even for a weekend to look after him while my stepmother attended a weekend conference. Before he got really ill, he visited me for a few days. Now he's gone, and at the funeral, I had to listen to people say what a great father he was, how he was this caring, attentive dad who really loved his children. I don't know that man. I never did. And I'm angry that I had to participate in the love-fest for a man I was so angry with.
During the period around my father's funeral, my stepmother's family was there. She asked me before I came down to not mention that I was off work for mental illness. I had to lie to her family members and say that I was working when I haven't been and keep my extreme emotional and physical distress hidden in order to "fit in" with her strait-laced family. I couldn't be an embarrassment if no one knew! I did tell one of her cousins who was always pretty cool when she lived down the street. Her response to me was to watch Auntie Mame and remember that "You gotta live!"
I have attempted to reach out to my stepmother previously, as we were working together to find solutions for things my dad was dealing with during his illness. I told her that for most of my adult life, I have been suicidal. I think about it every day, without fail. Being who I am, I said I'm in treatment, she didn't need to worry, I was okay. Her response was, "Oh, I'm not worried about that at all. Now, what do you think we can do about your dad's diet?" Statements that invalidate me, my pain, what I'm going through are still happening when I try to reach out.
I saw my psychiatrist today and told him that my father passed away; my benefits have been terminated as of August 31st unless paperwork proving I am still incapable of returning to work are submitted; that I have to move; and that I still can't deal with anything outside of the corner where my computer sits. When I leave the house, I can barely make it anywhere without a severe anxiety attack, verging on panic. Even the thought of leaving the house is taxing. I told my doctor that I haven't eaten much in about a month, partly because I had no money left with two trips to Calgary after my dad died, but also because I had no appetite most of the time. I'm supposed to be drinking meal replacement shakes, but they're gross and so I don't. I've fallen into a really, really deep depression. I'll go days without showering because - why bother?! My kitchen is, to put it bluntly, in a state of squalor. I'm unable to use my kitchen sink, my counter tops, my stove. My fridge is full of spoiled food because I haven't eaten it. My living room is a mess of clothing, garbage and empty pop cans that has spilled into the hallway and bathroom. My bedroom is mostly untouched because I can't stand being in there. I take medication to help me sleep - if I didn't I would be on the couch every night. I have cats that I love to pieces, but I can't even seem to get up the caring to make sure they have clean litter boxes until the smell wafts down the hall. Water bowls have run dry, and food dishes empty. I feel guilty and horrible, but every time I walk into the kitchen, I panic. This is related to my PTSD, and the anxiety that drives it up is related to that as well.
I've heard a lot of people tell me to "just get over it" or "just kick it in the ass, tell it (depression, PTSD, BPD) that it won't rise again" or "I just decided I wasn't going to be depressed anymore and it worked!" People like my sister, my ex boyfriend, my case manager at the insurance company, my stepmother.
Depression - and I mean real depression, not that down-in-the-dumps kind of sadness you might experience; the depression that drags you down from everything and everyone, leaving you feeling numb and empty or suicidal (or both); the depression that changes you, your relationships and your life - isn't something I can turn off with a snap of my fingers, or a spoonful of sugar. It doesn't work that way. If it did, there'd be no therapists in business, no drug companies with anti-depressants and sedatives. If it did work that way, I wouldn't be writing this.
Borderline Personality Disorder, a misunderstood, contested mental illness, kind of a catch-all diagnosis for those who don't fit anywhere else. My relationships with most people are intense, rocky, off-and-on, love-hate kind of things. I don't have patience for people who won't make an effort, so I cut them off. Things to me are very black and white, it is, or it isn't. As a result, I'm quite alone in my life, having gotten terribly talented at pushing people away and shutting off.
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - I hate this, I hate it so much. It isn't just soldiers that get it, and it can appear decades after the trauma happened. I was severely abused as a child, and had repeated abuses as an adult. My life was threatened, my innocence completely stolen, and I was left to try and cope with it alone. I have had problems with insomnia since I was about 12 years old, surviving most nights on about 3 hours of sleep, usually interrupted by waking up. I have a "mild" eating disorder, which has gotten worse as I've gotten older, resulting in major weight gain and weight loss - the latter usually viewed as "fantastic!" even though I lost about 60lbs in 2 months in early 2008 and continued to drop it. My current psychiatrist is the only one who's been terribly concerned - he's the one who put me on the meal replacement shakes. I have hyperawareness and it causes me to jump at sudden noises - like the next door neighbour slamming his door, or people in public laughing loudly, or even unexpected noise when the cat jumps up somewhere. I have regular anxiety attacks, and sometimes panic attacks, while attempting to do normal things, like wash dishes (all related to my childhood abuse). I suffer from "unexplained" pain in my muscles, my joints and my stomach. I have IBS, which makes eating certain things an adventurous undertaking. I have been known to lose my voice suddenly when I'm under immense amounts of stress. I lose the ability to concentrate, think clearly, follow instructions and make decisions. This makes working a very difficult endeavour, as most employers require all of those things to rely on employees to complete tasks. It makes living my life like walking through a (hypothetical) minefield. I really don't know what's going to trigger me next - a book, a song, a movie, a comment from someone who has no clue what my life has been like.
If you know me, you already know someone who is mentally ill. You likely know more than just one person with mental illness, but not everyone is as open with it as I've chosen to be. I've described my life as it is right now, isolated, and living in a house that is likely very unhealthy, but I have no real way out right now. I've opened my door a little bit to let you in.
All I ask is that you don't tell someone suffering from depression or other mental illnesses to just get over it. That's like telling a patient with incurable cancer if they wish hard enough, they'll be well. It just doesn't work that way. Mental illness is very real, whether you see physical signs or not. It is real, it exists, and it's exhausting enough to cope with without being told to just buck up, sunshine! If you know someone with mental illness, the best thing you can do for them is to try to understand their situation, and be supportive of whatever they choose to do. Step in if you feel they are a danger to themselves or others and need help, but be there when you can. It's amazing how much I appreciated my brother dropping off food for me the other week. You don't have to devote all of your time to helping them - and likely, if they are like me, they would feel smothered, and less capable of making decisions for themselves. Having mental illness doesn't need to be a death sentence - but it can be if it isn't treated properly. The mentally ill aren't crazy, or stupid, or lazy. You don't know how they got that way, but they did, and they deserve help and love and support as much as anyone.