kaberett | Talking about mental illness

naamah_darling's launched a new blog: "I want to show people what living with my mental illness is like. Visibility is a major factor in reducing the stigma that surrounds mental illness. For many people, though, it’s risky talking about these things, for having “crazy” be the first thing people know about you. People have to keep themselves safe, and many cannot speak out."

And, you know, there's all sorts of reasons I think it's very important to talk - and talk publicly - about mental illness. So: hi. I have chronic depression with anxiety; I've been depressed at least since I was thirteen. I strongly suspect I also have undiagnosed PTSD.

I started medication when I was 21, because I couldn't put it off any longer. I'd delayed seeking diagnosis for so long because of the stigma: both medically, in that it would have been even harder to get my chronic pain diagnosed if doctors could happily dismiss it as somatisation, and socially/academically. As it is, I took a year out of my undergraduate degree, and every time someone asks about it I have to decide between the bland and anodyne "for health reasons" and the braver - and more informative - "I went very, very mad".

Crazy is a thing I am. It's a thing I can't hide, even if I want to: ask me, maybe, about the times I've suddenly realised, walking through a supermarket or shopping centre, that I've been muttering out loud for several minutes. Or, well, ask me about the way it impacts on my work.

But: "crazy", being crazy, isn't the bad thing here, particularly: it's hard, some days or weeks or months, but I am medicated and I have people and I have a counsellor and mostly, for the time being, I'm alright.

The bad thing is the way people react to "crazy": the way that in trivialising it they trivialise me, or that in fearing it or despising it, it is me they fear or despise, or that in being visibly crazy in public I put myself in danger - and in more than one sense this is not something I can control.

Here's another thing: it feels very strange to say "I am depressed" when my medication and support network are currently keeping me functionally not-depressed [most of the time]. But: I have endometriosis even when I'm not in pain; I have endometriosis even when my painkillers, or my GnRH agonists, or whatever, are working. And I am aware - and sometimes it is painfully, desperately aware - that the only things between me and my illness are my daylight lamp and 30mg a day - forty in winter - of citalopram hydrobromide. Like

jjhunter says: and 'history of depression' means there's no defense/perfect enough to keep it from coming back; like Onsind say: yeah it gets better / but it also could get worse / tainted blessing, stubborn curse / and all the same, you just take it day by day (by day by day).

And that? That is why I am going to keep on talking.

Threaded | Flat

Y'all know this, of course, but I thought it was worth preserving in a medium I care more about than facebook.

Where is the "like" button? I have more thoughts on this, but I have some stuff I want to get done this morning. Maybe this afternoon I will come back with more cogent thoughts. For now, I'm just popping in to give you a "thumbs up"!

Here, listening; painfully grateful not to be alone even in this, the unsettling of self.

Oh, that Onsind song. Oh.

Not alone, indeed.

Personally, I can no longer not blog about my alphabet soup (currently listed as MDD, PTSD, ASD, GAD, etc etc). I used to be a "popular" blogger but I got sick of pretending to be normal. I haven't shared the URL to either of my current journals with any of my blogging friends from back in the day and have the journals hidden away on a service that very few of them use.

I shouldn't be ashamed. But dammit, I am going to keep talking without trying to fake it this time.

P.S. I'm not on Facebook anymore, and the major reason is that I felt that couldn't let my real self spill all over the place, when I got unfriended by somebody every time I let that happen. :-/

I was aware you were dealing with some mental health issues, particularly depression, but (being new) I wasn't quite aware of the extent of it. So thank you for sharing this--it gave me some context to work with.

I'm fortunate enough not to have any major mental health issues to deal with, but I do have a few friends that do and my partner is a clinical psychologist. I agree that it is vitally important to speak out and I admire your courage in doing so. I very much hope to hear you speak further about it, when appropriate.

I do my best to be sensitive when discussing these issues but I know that my privilege can blind me from time to time. If I step on your toes in any way, I hope that you will gently let me know so that I can learn from my mistake.

*nods*

I personally distinguish between "I have depression", which is a thing about me that is true, has been true since age 14 or before, and is likely remain true forever or as long as I'm alive (absent some really advanced medical science or a miracle), and "I am depressed", which when I say it about myself means "my depression is currently in active mode and has commenced fucking up my worldview and life, yet again, the fucker".

♥

Please do keep talking. Selfishly, it's because when you do, it reminds me of the existence of people outside my experience and privilege bubble, so that I stop thinking the world is only certain people.

But also keep talking, so that the institutions stop invisibling you or trying to make you into something you are not.

It's really awful when people do that about mental-health things and I really hate it. It's not something that you can simply dismiss or pretend doesn't exist.

(Also, citalopram can be a godsend sometimes...we use it too.)

Wow, the blog has almost 100 followers already! :D
Thanks for sharing!

ere's another thing: it feels very strange to say "I am depressed" when my medication and support network are currently keeping me functionally not-depressed [most of the time]. But: I have endometriosis even when I'm not in pain; I have endometriosis even when my painkillers, or my GnRH agonists, or whatever, are working. And I am aware - and sometimes it is painfully, desperately aware - that the only things between me and my illness are my daylight lamp and 30mg a day - forty in winter - of citalopram hydrobromide.

YES. I have Crohn's Disease even when i am (supposedly) in remission/not having a flare-up.
*goes to listen to the song*

I am finally, in the last couple of months, giving myself permission not just to relax and recuperate but to seek help for my needs. It has taken me years and years to have the courage to face that I am chronically depressed, not just another emo teenager. (You would think that the fact that I left my teens four years ago would be an indication that this isn't related to adolescence, but, well, I wanted it to be a failing on my part, something that I could overcome on my own.)

So now I have talked to a doctor who put me on an antidepressant. I have started seeing a therapist. And since getting that antidepressant, I have had so many fewer thoughts of how it would be better if I didn't exist. I have been allowing myself to have actual feelings without having them destroy me. And I have been paying more attention to how I can accommodate me.

I had so much shame about this for most of my life, and I'm still not at the point where I will talk publicly about chronic depression and anxiety. I still sometimes default to "I should have been able to get over this without any help." So I really appreciate posts like this, where people say: look. It's okay to exist like this. Life is not over and we get through it with a team of support. Thank goodness.

I'm tag-spelunking right now, so don't mind random comments. And I'm tag spelunking with a brain that's not braining, so this is another entry where I say YES, THIS, TIMES A MILLION ELEVENTY.

Sometimes the Universe knows what it's doing when it puts people on a website. I am so glad that I'd been checking the Latest Things options to see your posts.

Visibility is SO IMPORTANT. It's like, all I ever hear about other bipolar people, or PTSD, is that "they're crazy." And I'm like "Yeah. I'm crazy. So let's talk about that."

Keep talking. Please. Always, keep talking.

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Thank you.

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