It seems that when the topic of mental illness arises, inevitably two things happen: certain people (who have it) sometimes feel ashamed and other people (who don't have it) act uncomfortable.
What's with all the shame and discomfort? If I say that I have bipolar disorder, it's not as though I've just stood up in church and announced to God (who, I'm guessing would have already gotten the memo) and everybody that I have syphilis, right? I mean, maybe there's something to be ashamed of in that and maybe there is reason for people to feel uncomfortable around you.
But, realistically speaking, having bipolar disorder or schizophrenia or clinical depression or anxiety, etc. is no more shameful than having a brain tumor or a bad case of hives. It's an illness. No one asks to get it and unlike diseases such as diabetes or lung cancer, there isn't even anything you can attempt to do to prevent it. Sucks to be crazy, huh?
As I mentioned and for the record, I have bipolar disorder. What this means is that I swing back and forth between depression and mania. When I am depressed, I cry a lot. I feel very down. I feel sad. I feel hopeless. I have no motivation. Everything seems pointless. Sometimes I want to die, but I don't necessarily want to kill myself (there's a big difference.) When I am manic, I sometimes feel like I can conquer the world and I make all kinds of plans, but rarely follow-through. I can also be extremely agitated and anything sensory (light, sound, touch) will make me feel like I'm crawling out of my skin. I become reckless and can spend too much money or do risky things that I would not ordinarily do. And just for fun, sometimes, I can be manic and depressed at the same time. That's what's known as a "mixed-episode", boys and girls. Sounds crazy right?
So what should YOU do if someone you know has a mental illness and they've either trusted you enough to share their "shameful", little secret with you or, because you live with them/are close to them and it's 2 in the morning and they haven't slept for 4 days and are re-potting all the house plants, you've kind of figured it out on your own?
More than what you SHOULD do/say, I guess I'll stick to a list of "don'ts".
First of all, unless you, yourself, have a severe mental illness, don't judge because you cannot even begin to comprehend. Period.
Here is a short list of things (you're probably saying to yourself, "this is short!??!"), I have had said to me or have heard other people say about their relatives who have mental illnesses:
1 - You just need to snap out of it and try harder.
This is bullshit, straight up. NO ONE would deliberately CHOOSE this life and if it were so easy to just "snap out of it" then EVERYONE would do it! You can't snap out of a mental illness any easier than you can snap out of a broken leg. (See what I did there?)
2 - If he/she just took their medication they would be fine.
It's really easy for those of you who are sane to say that. Let me explain something to you: Medications suck (and before you go off and say "being crazy sucks worse", just shhh...listen.)
Here are just a few of the side-effects I've experienced on the dozens of medications I've been on: bruising on my entire body, itching all over my body, vivid nightmares, extreme sleepiness (to the point of having to pull over and stop on the side of the road and sleep), bloating so severe I could barely breathe, extreme fatigue and thirst, weight gains of 20-50 pounds (Lithium destroyed my metabolism and I've never been able to recover from that), suicidal thoughts (I thought you said this was supposed to make me NOT want to die, Doctor?) and the need to urinate every 15-20 minutes. Good times.
My current medications come with a risk of seizures (never had one, thank God), brain zaps (these are hard to explain), anxiety (cuz I don't have enough of THAT), thirst, headache and the possibility of severe electrolyte imbalance (this one can kill you, kids) and on top of all this, since I was misdiagnosed as clinically depressed for 15 years, I was being fed medications that actually continually caused me to become manic because I was, in reality, bipolar. Thank you, doctors.
Now all of that being said, side-effects DO suck, but in general, being crazy DOES suck worse (happy now?), so me, personally, I'll take my medications and thank you very much, however...If someone needs to be on medication and they are not, you being an asshole toward them isn't going to change anything. They're sick.
You cannot reason with, talk to or argue with a brain disorder and if you think that you can, you're the one who's crazy.
Don't get pissed off at us. We know we suck when we're sick, we don't need you to constantly remind us and we may be so sick that we are unable to make a rational decision to get back on medications. This is NOT our fault, so don't treat us as if we were less than. The only difference between me and you is that your brain functions "normally" and mine does not for some unknown, but biologically based reason.
There is something else you should know about medications. News flash: They aren't a cure-all (that's for those of you who think your relative with depression/bipolar disorder, etc. would be a peach to live with if they'd only take mind-altering medications.) Every day, for the rest of my life, I will always experience low-grade symptoms of depression and mania. The medications just allow me to function somewhat more normally. And guess what? Medications don't always prevent a relapse. That means I can be being a good, little girl and taking my 4-6 pills a day (depending on my anxiety level) and if enough stress, lack of sleep, change, freeway trips come along, I can start to get sick again and no amount of medication in the world will stop it or fix it, until I've train wrecked myself and either landed in the hospital or an intensive outpatient program (known as IOP.)
3 - It'll be ok. You'll feel better once you (get a job, fix your relationship problems, find your missing hamster.)
Partially true, but not what you're thinking. As I have mentioned, a mental illness is a biological illness and while things like the stress of losing your job, your relationship or your hamster can aggravate your condition, it doesn't magically go away once the stress of the moment is gone.
4 - We all have our down days. I was sad when I lost my job/my boyfriend/my guinea pig.
Don't. Just don't. It's not the same thing. I'm not sad. I'm not down. Ok, well I am, but it's not because Fluffy, the hamster, is missing. I have an illness. You just felt like crap for awhile, but you got over it. I won't ever get over this. I will be the way for the rest of my life. You try living with THAT in your head.
To wrap this up and I know it was long and it looks like I'm going to go on for (counting...) 11 more paragraphs before I shut up, I want to muse about the past few weeks. They've been rough.
I feel like I'm on a 2 year-plan with this illness. I first became sick in 1992 and I was desperately sick. I will write about those times another day. In 2007 (which was when I finally got my accurate diagnosis of bipolar disorder), I was so ill that I had to go on disability and back through IOP (again).
I got sick again in 2009 and overdosed once, was hospitalized twice and due to my oldest daughter making some really stupid and selfish decisions, I lost my youngest daughter to CPS for a time. She had to live with her Uncle for 9 months (thank, God that she could - I will always love him and be thankful to him for taking her in and not leaving her to rot in some foster home.)
It's 2012 and even though my rational mind knows relapse is not inevitable, I'm feeling like my relapse is overdue, lurking around the corner. For months, I've been having sleeping issues and that's always a bad thing with bipolar disorder. I'm getting more and more sad and depressed and feeling more and more hopeless and that life is pointless. The living room and my bedroom are a mess and Y and I have been wearing clothes out of baskets and off the floor for weeks and weeks. Most nights, I don't eat dinner, though of course, I always fix her something simple to eat. Thank God she gets a to-go breakfast in the morning and eats lunch at school. Weekends are a little harder, but we get by and she always gets fed, even if I choose not to eat because the thought of preparing something for both of us is just too overwhelming. I still go to work every day and it takes everything I have to get there and do my job. There is nothing leftover at the end of the day.
I had a very frank conversation with my middle daughter, V, a few nights ago. Of all my daughters, she is the one who "gets it" the most. My oldest could not possibly care less that I'm sick and that one day, this sickness might choose to take my life if it so wishes. She views my illness only as something that inconveniences her life. My youngest is, obviously, too young to understand.
I told V that I am tired. I am so tired of fighting this monster (here come the tears.) This year marks two decades since I first became ill. I spent the first 15 of those years incorrectly diagnosed and utterly miserable.
I hate that the person I was before bipolar disorder stole my life is gone forever. Yes. We all change over the years, this is true, but before I got sick, life was different. My house was clean. I cooked 3 meals a day. I was never "behind" on laundry. I went to the gym 6 times a week. I had a lot of energy, I was motivated and I was always the type to get "just one more thing" done before I moved on to the next. I never got to see who I might have become had bipolar disorder not handed me a life sentence.
Bipolar disorder contributed to the destruction of my marriage. It destroyed the years I should have spent, happily watching my children grow up. There are entire years of their lives and important events in their lives that I can't even remember. This is painful. I vividly recall A's first day of pre-school. I can't remember V's at all. I can remember V's high school graduation with absolute clarity. I cannot remember A's at all. These are the things that bipolar disorder steals from you when it decides to move in. Your life, your memories, your happiness.
I'm really just very tired. I can be aware of my illness when I'm in this particular state, but there are times when it spirals out of control and becomes so bad that I forget that I'm bipolar. I forget that I need to eat, to sleep, to stick to a routine and a schedule. That's when things like swallowing handfuls of Xanax with vodka happen. Well, that's the extreme example of what happened last time, though, I hope never to repeat that. I remember feeling so tired then, too. I didn't want to kill myself; I just wanted the pain to stop and I wanted to sleep and I couldn't seem to make either thing happen.
We are reckless when we are manic. We make bad decisions. We don't think about the consequences. I can still recall my daughter, V's, voice cracking the day after I overdosed and I called her from the hospital. She choked up as she started to tell me she was so glad I was ok. Yes my nemesis, bipolar disorder, you have stolen many things from me, but that is one memory that you haven't taken and never will. Maybe there's a reason for that.
For many years, and not just due to having bipolar disorder, I have considered this to be my life's theme song. Enjoy.
