I will not attempt to fit 29 years of a life marred by mental illness into a single blog article. However, in the spirit of Mental Health Awareness Month, I would like to offer up a few thoughts that would have benefited me immensely as I navigated my own journey. I didn’t learn these things until I’d suffered through years of pain, shame, and confusion, avoiding help because I feared judgment. But maybe I can ease yours by offering what I’ve learned.
If you’ve had even peripheral experience with mental illness, you’ve surely experienced your share of well-intentioned and negligibly researched advice on the subject. Here is a list of comments I heard, some of which scared me away from even attempting to talk to a doctor until I was an adult. I’ve included how I’d respond now, after earning a minor in psychology (which offered me the vocabulary to talk about my symptoms and realistic expectations about what might happen if I pursued treatment) and receiving treatment for over eight years.
I’m certainly not a doctor, nor am I offering medical advice. But from one patient to another, I hope this article feels like I’m placing my hand over yours and giving you the validation I wish I had had in some of my darkest hours.
“You have such a good life and so much to be thankful for.”
Agreed and duly noted. But that doesn’t make your negative experiences any less real or valid. Good and bad coexist all the time. So the next time someone tries to use this phrase to invalidate your struggle with mental illness, advise them that they should focus on how grateful they are to not have a mental illness or know what it’s like.
“You can fight anxiety naturally by doing X, Y, and Z.”
A healthy lifestyle with good nutrition, regular exercise, and sufficient sleep is objectively a good thing. However, it is not a substitute for treatment when you need it.
“Mental illness isn’t real. There isn’t a blood test for it.”
There’s also no objective test to prove pain, but I bet you believe in that. So maybe we can agree that just because you don’t personally experience a problem, doesn’t mean it isn’t real.
As far as how a mental illness is diagnosed, I refer you to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual. We’re currently on the DSM-5, or the fifth edition of this massive book. I assure you there is far more research and method than you’re imagining.
“You don’t want people to think you’re crazy.”
I’m happy to report that “crazy” isn’t a real diagnosis. In my experience, it’s a word people use to degrade anything they don’t understand, extending well beyond mental illness.
You can’t control whether other people call you names, but you can decide not to be one of them.
You’re not crazy.
“Well, if that’s a disorder, then almost everyone probably has one.”
It seems to me that a high prevalence of a problem is all the more reason to take it seriously and not get in the way of someone seeking treatment.
If you’re genuinely interested in the numbers, check out this article from the National Institute of Mental Health.
“Medication could mess with your brain.”
It had damn well better.
If your brain is malfunctioning, treatment will alter how it’s functioning. That’s how we treat other organs, too. I don’t mean to invalidate your own fears, because any effect on the brain is serious business. But if the brain is where the problem is, then that’s what the solution should target.
“Psychoactive medication could change your personality.”
It’s medication, not surgery. So if that happens, between you and your doctor and the people who know you, someone will notice you are not acting like yourself. Then your doctor can cross that medication off and try something different.
The fact that you may not land on the right solution on the first try is not a good reason to give up on treatment entirely.
“But we don’t even know how those medications work!”
That’s true. But when you’ve suffered quietly for decades and something starts to help, you might be surprised how little you care. I’ll read the research when it comes out, but for now, I’d like to continue my monthly subscription to feeling better than I ever thought was possible, thanks.
And finally, a question I didn’t hear but definitely had deep down:
“What does it feel like to take medication for a mental disorder?”
I’m sure this varies by diagnosis, type of medication, and by individual, so I will simply share my own experience.
I describe my medication in two ways: a non-stick spray for my thoughts and a life jacket for my mood.
As a child, I would get disturbed by either a scene in a movie or a thought that occurred to me, and it would stick in my mind and haunt me for months. It would distract me from every part of life and make me feel a sense of shame, which I tried to mitigate by “confessing” the thought to my mom. Sometimes I got so upset that I got sick or woke in the night with my pajamas soaked through with sweat. As I look back, the different eras of my life are colored by the obsessive thought that plagued me at the time, marking the months and years like so many rings in a tree. When one era finally ended, another would begin only days later.
With the help of medication, my brain feels like an attic that was once so cluttered that I couldn’t walk across it, but now I have tons of space to actually use it. The scary thoughts still occur to me, but they don’t sink in their fangs and continue to disturb me for months. (Hence the non-stick spray analogy.) What’s more, if something does get me down, it doesn’t take me months to come back up. I experience my negative emotions, and then I recover in a normal amount of time. Like I have a life jacket that allows me to bob back to the surface.
Here’s to Your Mental Health
My experience may not resemble yours, and medication may not be the right treatment for you. But I hope you can take courage from what I’ve learned.
How you feel is relevant and real. It’s important to prioritize good mental health whether you have a disorder or are simply having a hard time. Like every other part of your body, your brain deserves the treatment of an expert to help you live your best life.
If someone in your life doesn’t believe you or isn’t taking you seriously, I’m sorry. That’s a horrible feeling. But it’s not your fault, and it doesn’t mean you’re wrong; it just means they’re fortunate enough not to know what mental illness is like. Be happy for them, but seek out treatment. Your doctor can help you figure out what you need. I recognize that the U.S. healthcare system is a nightmare, but there is help. Don’t stop advocating for yourself.
Life can get better than you ever imagined, and I want you to experience that. For me, seeking treatment has made all the difference in the world.
