Mental illness is a lot more visible and acceptable to discuss now than it was even one generation ago, but it’s still no cakewalk living with it on a daily basis. So if your day-to-day involves popping pills (that were prescribed to you) and describing how you’re doing using terms that 300-level psychology undergrads haven’t encountered yet, this list is for you.
If you haven’t wrestled with a disorder yourself, you might wonder what it’s like. There are plenty of articles out there that can fill you in on the science behind mental illness as we understand it. It might be a good idea to start there. But no list of symptoms is really going to capture the experience of living every day with a disorder, so even if you are familiar with the scientific background, this list may be a bit of an eye-opener.
In here, we joke about our mental illness and laugh at our struggles. We take the happy with the sad and the horrible with the hilarious. Yeah, mental illness is no joke, but sometimes you have to just step back and appreciate the sick irony of it all. Besides, if you can name the tough things in your life and maybe even laugh about them, they can feel a little bit lighter.
So without further ado, you might be a veteran of mental illness if any of the following applies to you.
- You’re familiar with the terms “neurotypical” and “neurodivergent.”
No, they’re not a personality test or star sign, nor even actual medical terms. It’s just a way of describing people whose brains function in a way that’s considered “normal” and those of us who have had to improvise. Doctors won’t use this language, but those of us who fall into the neurodivergent category often will.
A lot of mental and neurological disorders fall into the category of neurodivergence. It may seem harsh to count yourself part of the My Brain Is Messed Up Club, but it can be refreshing and provide relief to simply find someone else who understands.
So if you’re neurotypical, my sincerest congratulations. Go enjoy your functioning brain. Everyone else, welcome to the club.
- You’ve ever set a timer and gone outside to sun yourself like a damn plant.
Especially if you’ve had a mood disorder, you’ve probably pored over the lists of activities that are supposed to help your brain produce “the good chemicals” (namely dopamine and serotonin). You know all the brain hacks, from research-backed studies to the sketchiest pop psychology, and you schedule them into your day like some kind of mental health athlete.
When you’re feeling out of sorts, you run down the list: Have I eaten healthy foods recently, drank enough water, slept well, gotten some physical activity, gotten some sun and fresh air, talked to a friend, etc.?
Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great knowledge base for anyone with a body. It just feels a little strange to look at the time and go, “It’s time for me to sun myself. For the brain chemicals.”
- You have your “I’m having an episode” script locked and loaded.
In fact, you may have more than one.
With your friends, you might say, “I’m having an anxious day, so if I’m acting off, that’s why. There’s not always a specific reason. Just know that it’s nothing you did and there’s nothing you need to do about it. Just be with me.”
To your boss, you might say, “I’ve got some personal stuff going on,” or if they’re a PTO miser, you might try, “I’m not feeling well,” which is technically true and also none of their business.
When you’re with your doctor, you can trot out your technical terms like intrusive thoughts, emotional blunting, anhedonia, dysphoria, or dysregulation.
You’ve even got some explanations loaded for situations that might not happen.
Why don’t I drink? “I’m on a medication that doesn’t play well with others.” (Not that it’s anyone’s business.)
Why do I have a blanket on in the summer? “It’s an emotional security thing.”
Why am I so interested in psychology? “Because apparently psychology is interested in me.”
- You document your condition like a storm tracker waiting for the next tornado.
I’ve got daily journals, lists of symptoms, things to talk to my therapist about if my insurance ever covers one, and notes on acute episodes in at least three separate locations. If I’m having a particularly bad episode, I write down the date, time, and what I think triggered it. If I don’t know the trigger, I simply describe my day up to that point. I give it a severity rating and note how long the episode lasted once I’ve calmed down.
I’ve also gotten really quick at tracing the origins of each of my negative emotions and moods. Did something happen earlier that I didn’t have time to process? Am I worrying about something in the back of my mind? Is it a physical or hormonal root? What do I need right now?
Even when I’m sitting still, there is a whole committee doing threat assessment in my brain at any given time.
- You’ve given up things you enjoy for mental health reasons.
I used to watch two or three medical dramas that I really liked. The characters are lovable and true to life, and the medical aspect is reasonably accurate for a TV show. But when I looked back through my panic journal and noted that I would have an anxiety episode on the same day every week, I deduced that the ethical questions that are medical series’ bread and butter are too intense for me. As much as I loved those shows, I no longer watch them. I can give up a show I love if it means not spiraling every week.
I also completely gave up caffeine for about ten years. When I was a kid, caffeine just made me giggly and silly, but when I hit my teens, it started triggering physical anxiety symptoms, which would then set my brain down a bad path, so I stopped drinking it altogether. I’d memorized which sodas don’t have caffeine, and if none were available in a restaurant, I’d get lemonade or water.
If you’ve struggled with your mental health, you probably have a list of your own, having to limit certain media, friends, or substances. Whatever’s on your list, you’ve learned the only way to win is not to play.
- You’ve had to check whether your doctor believes in your condition before committing to an appointment.
Sure, mental illness doesn’t show up in a blood test, but then neither does physical pain. Does that make it less real?
Like I said, we’ve come a long way, but there are still some doctors who are either unwilling or unequipped to handle certain disorders, and some who are simply disinclined to take their patients seriously. Don’t waste your time with those folks. Imagine going to a doctor who thinks heart disease indicates weakness of character. That’s kind of what it’s like to go to someone who has no time for your mental health.
It’s enough that we’ve each got friends and family who don’t take our issues seriously. Let’s stop patronizing medical professionals who ignore an entire body of research on the topic.
- Your healthy fear of a potential brain injury or electrical shock is tempered with a little voice that whispers: “But what if it fixes me?”
Obviously don’t ever do this on purpose. The risks immeasurably outweigh any potential benefit. But it’s crossed my mind.
Showering and hearing thunder? I try to wrap it up quickly. But the thought occurs to me: “What if I get electrocuted and it resets my brain and fixes something?”
There are cases where weird things trigger positive change (the brain is a mystery and we are an electrical system, after all) but those cases are rare. More often than not, a jolt or impact will cause severe damage rather than exploit a tiny loophole that will help.
But a girl can dream.
- You’ve developed a dark sense of humor surrounding your condition, one that can be shocking to neurotypical friends.
It’s not that you don’t take your condition seriously. But you’ve spent so long dealing with it that you’ve become used to the scary stuff and can find the humor in the situation, even at arguably inappropriate moments. It’s a form of radical acceptance.
You spout grim realities in the same breath as your coffee order. You calmly remark on why certain psychoactive medications work well for your condition or sing a little song about them while counting out your pills. A comedian makes a wisecrack about their mental illness and everyone else goes, “Awww!” but you’re rolling in your seat laughing because…same.
If I was a comedian, I think I would call out different medications and have people cheer like they’re representing their hometown.
Sometimes I forget how comfortable I’ve become talking about my mental illness journey until I spot someone staring in alarm. Honey, you’re precious. Enjoy your serotonin.
- You’ve caught yourself doing some weird shit to self-soothe.
Do you bounce your leg 100 miles an hour? Always shred whatever paper product comes your way? Carry a pen to every meeting even if there’s nothing to write just so your hand isn’t at loose ends?
I’ve found myself using my swivel chair at work to crush myself between the chair and the desk because it provides temporary relief. I guess it’s sort of like a weighted blanket? Other times I’ve found myself digging my nails into my arm, and I’ve sucked or bitten my cheeks to the point of having a permanent line all the way around the inside of my mouth. Every time I go to the dentist, someone asks whether I’ve bitten my cheek.
- You know the generic names of different psychoactive medications and how many milligrams is a lot.
‘Nuff said.
- You never react the way you’re supposed to when horror movies involve psychiatric stuff.
Sure, medical abuse is scary no matter what, and we’ve gone through some grim periods of medical misunderstanding when it comes to mental illness. But electroconvulsive therapy? Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. (It’s a real therapy that uses an electrical shock to induce a seizure, not a torture method. And for some of us, it helps.)
And as far as mental illness being scary, nothing is scarier than experiencing it yourself. Fear of the patient is an overused and under-researched trope that needs to be retired.
- You’ve ever considered visiting your local priest to request an exploratory exorcism.
You know how sometimes when doctors know where a persistent problem is hiding but not exactly what the problem is, they open you up and take a look around? Like that, but with casting out demons.
Listen, medicine has come a long way since the days of trephination (drilling holes in the skull) and blaming demons every time someone’s behavior doesn’t fit the norm. But even since finding a medication that works for me, I’ve found myself wondering if an exorcism might help. Like, nothing is a silver bullet, I still live with my symptoms to varying degrees depending on the day, and I’m used to a multi-pronged approach. So what if we added a spiritual prong? Just in case.
I think that for someone who has struggled with mental illness, the idea of an invisible stranger lurking inside you that hates God and wants you dead is not that far outside the realm of possibilities. And it’s certainly easier to explain than selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (try saying that five times fast).
- You’ve become so accustomed to doing daily combat with your brain that you misidentify normal emotions.
Yeah, sometimes you’re having an episode, but you might just be sad because something sad happened. Maybe you need to up your dosage, or maybe your job just sucks (I’ve been there). Maybe your ex wasn’t a narcissist, just a little selfish, and it triggered some old wounds in you. Normal feelings can stick around for a season without being a disorder.
Being plugged into a mental health community is great for this. People who have experienced both neurodivergence and ordinary reactions to life can help point out when you’re missing the forest for the trees.
- You have a love-hate relationship with your diagnosis.
Or you’re like me, and you live in a permanent state of wondering, because you don’t have more than a script from your PCP, which is not a diagnosis.
Either way, diagnosis is a double-edged sword. It can tell you what’s going on, that it’s not unheard of, you’re not alone, and there are ways to help you, or at least people trying to figure out how. But on the flip side, it can feel like a life sentence or a black mark on your record, especially if you’ve got what you consider to be “one of the scary ones.”
Ultimately, the purpose of a diagnosis is medical shorthand, a way for one doctor to convey to another doctor the bucket of symptoms you might be experiencing and why you might be prescribed certain drugs. It’s the tagline of your medical history. Still, your own feelings regarding your label will probably run the gamut.
So call your disorder by its government name with all the DSM-5 specificity you can muster, or call it Gerald for all I care. It was here before you knew what to call it, and the point is, you’re still you.
Always. Still you.
***
I’m not going to ask how many yeses you got. (It’s not another damn inventory from your psychiatrist, after all.) Chances are if you’re reading this article, a few of them landed. And if any of these took you by surprise, welcome to the show.
So I guess all there is left to do is raise a glass to you (of water, not alcohol or grapefruit juice, naturally), knock back my pills, and offer you this blessing: May your dosage be correct, its effects be swift, and its side effects be minimal. Take care of yourself, laugh when you can, and by all means, don’t ghost your therapist.
Good luck out there, my neurospicy brethren.
