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Last week I wrote about how fighting bipolar disorder is like fighting an invisible enemy. And I suggested that creating an internal visual of an "enemy" was a helpful way of differentiating the sick person from the illness itself.
I think stigma is similar. We can let stigma, or thoughts thereof, get into our heads. We can start to believe the ignorant judgements of others and we can let stigma bring us down.
But we don't have to. We can fight.
And while stigma is often something one feels, sometimes it is something one can see too. Like in print. Like in The Daily Athenaeum piece on depression that I wrote about on Monday.
It was chock-a-block with ideas of stigma. But I chose not to believe it and instead I chose to fight.
When you are diagnosed with a mental illness, your first reaction is probably fear. Those who love you also might feel fear. After all, mental illness is stigmatized, and certainly not something anyone wants to live with. But we can, and we do. Successfully.
Defining Fear
When in recovery from an addiction, feelings and emotions can often be overwhelming. it is common to want to run from feelings, and numb out from tough emotions. In early recovery and sobriety, it is important to learn healthy coping skills and learn how to feel all feelings, process the emotions, and learn from the experience. Here are 5 ways to approach triggering emotions in sobriety.
Yesterday, I arrived at school for my teaching assignment. Before the first bell, three staff members had already offered their assistance and described my class of sixteen 2nd-graders as "awful."
On my first day of substitute teaching, I had been handed a room full of manic, unmedicated Bobs.
Today someone struggling with severe clinical depression will hear that they need to snap out of it. A friend, family member, or doctor will tell them that physical exercise or a positive outlook will solve their problem. A stranger will comment, "Smile! It can't be that bad." And in a way, all of those people are right. Physical exercise is a helpful component of depression treatment.
"Build a better mousetrap and the world will beat a path to your door. However, the mice will switch all your street signs." Taz Mopula
One lovely, sunny afternoon, a traveling salesman was driving his shiny new Cadillac convertible down a quiet country road. Without warning, he was rudely wrenched away from his predictable, uninteresting thoughts by a flubadubbadub sound indicating his left front tire had gone flat.
The fellow pulled to the shoulder, stopped, and surveyed his situation. Beside him, an imposing wrought iron fence stood sentry before a sweeping, well-manicured lawn. At once annoyed and bemused, he observed the lawn to be studded with solitary individuals wearing white jumpsuits, calmly entertaining each other and themselves. His mystification ended when he saw a large sign that read, "Shady Acres Home For The Deranged".
You know how you sometimes have nightmares about monsters? Something like that happens to me. You know how the monsters lie to you? They lie to me, too, and sometimes I believe them. Sometimes I think that if I hurt myself, the monsters will leave me alone. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don't, but every time I hurt myself things get worse. I go to treatment--usually outside the hospital, but sometimes inside--to make sure the monsters don't win.
I'm not a person who takes on a cause de jour - I simply have too much self-preservation for that. I have enough going on without worrying about the plights of the world.
However, when someone tries to spread mistruths and tries to silence my voice, then I start to get peeved.
Case in point. Recently, the West Virginia University's school paper, The Daily Athenaeum, printed an article about lifestyle factors and depression. And while I have no problem with that subject, the things they said therein were wrong and inexcusable.
And when they tried to silence my criticism of that article, I got peeved. I will not allow the voice of mental illness to be ignored simply because someone doesn't like what we have to say.
My daughter Ali and her new husband Marc were part of the audience at the September book-launch event for Ben Behind His Voices - sitting right next to Ben, I might add. He was a surprise guest that night and nothing could have surprised me more. I had been concerned about Ben's reactions to the night, especially the excerpts I read out loud. Therefore, we had talked about his feelings the night before and had reached a game plan together regarding his possible emotional reactions. All went well, thank goodness.
But, see? Here, once again, I have turned the conversation to Ben's needs.
This post is about Ali, his little sister - and for all the siblings whose grief and adjustments too often get the short shrift.
Two weeks.
Two weeks ago, Bob's psychiatrist switched up his medication cocktail for bipolar disorder (his ADHD medication remains the same).
And...my Bob is back.
I read this book many years ago, just as I was entering the turmoil of remembering, questioning and doubting myself all the way (as I'd been covertly taught over a lifetime). I happened to mention to my two sisters one day, "This is so strange but I've been diagnosed with PTSD." Both my sisters surprised me by responding, "Me too."
THEN I happened upon an old book manuscript that my now deceased father had written (not published), wherein the protagonist was obviously based upon himself and he rapes his "fiancee," who had my unusual name. Yes, truly.
Then I made myself look at the peculiar memory I always had where he violently threatened me but somehow I had never been able to recall what came before or after the episode. I had to admit that was a bit strange.
The pressures and powers to forget sexual abuse are great, both in family and society. In fact, I've come to the sad conclusion that the vast majority of survivors never really deal with their childhood wounds (a neglect for which there are always repercussions).
To critique an encouragement of people trusting their intuition in such matters is really getting the prescription dangerously wrong.
Thanks!