My Day of Life 2015
Every year on November 20, I reflect on my battle with mental illness--specifically bipolar disorder and generalized anxiety disorder. 2015 was my very first post, and it is re-posted here.
Today is an important day for me, and it’s one that I’ve celebrated largely in private for a few years. After all, my battle with mental illness doesn’t need to be anyone’s business. And who wants to hear about it anyway! What a downer. Besides, think of all those co-workers and future ex-girlfriends and old, long-out-of-touch high school friends who might think less of me after hearing that I have bipolar disorder. Stick to posts about marriages and babies and new jobs and CATS! Stick to SPORTS, Charlie!
But I realized something important recently. The stigma that bipolar disorder and other mental illnesses have needs to be torn down. And while I understand the desire to keep these things quiet, I’ve decided that, for me, I need to be a part of breaking the stigma, initiating dialogue and creating a better understanding for those around me.
Today is the eight year anniversary of me surviving a suicide attempt. Back then I didn’t even know I had something going on with me, until it was happening. I was disoriented and terrified—I didn’t want to die, but suddenly it was the only thing in front of me, occupying every thought, day and night, for weeks at a time. Those I spoke to about my experience had a range of reactions. And though everyone was trying their best to be supportive, I was exposed for the first time to the profound lack of understanding of mental illness that we have in this country. People told me to look on the bright side, to turn things over to my faith, to count my many (many) blessings. I had trouble making it clear to my friends that, despite doing those things, I wasn’t in a bad place rationally. I was sick. And the way to get better was to take medicine, go to therapy, and learn how to cope with this thing that was put before me.
I am not ashamed to have bipolar disorder, just as someone shouldn’t be ashamed of having a torn ACL or cancer. It’s a battle that I fight every single day. It’s a life-threatening illness. But just like most injuries and illnesses, there’s treatment, there’s help, there are ways to get better. And like those other ailments do not define those who have them, my diagnosis does not define me. I’ve always been a happy, joyful and often hyper person. That’s not the bipolar. That’s me. I have a big heart and I definitely have been known to cry about stuff that others might not. I’m a nostalgic. It’s very likely if you are an old friend I’ve thought of you plenty over the last few months, even if we haven’t spoken in years. These are elements of who I am as a person, not a manifestation of mental illness.
That’s what I fear, much more than the disorder. I fear you. I fear you slapping weird, damaging, and incorrect stereotypes onto me in your own mind when you interact with me. I fear you, as a person I care about, fearing me.
But we can beat that fear of mine together. We are called to love our neighbor. It’s the Golden Rule, and most every religion and moral code has some version of it. Well that’s hard! Sometimes our neighbor is loud or confusing or a total dick. I’ve found that, if my neighbor is particularly different from me in some way, can be even harder at first. But empathy is achieved by working to understand that person (or those people) more. For those of you who know folks dealing with mental health issues, educate yourselves. Read the words and hear the stories of others who have combated the same things as your neighbor. Catch up on different research in the field. And, if they are willing, speak to that person about their unique situation. Here’s my favorite resource for explaining depression, a two-part comic written by the hilarious Allie Brosh, who has depression and discussed it on her spectacular blog, “Hyperbole and a Half.”
You can work to be understanding of my situation, and I can work on being open about it so it’s easier to understand. I’m not ashamed. I’m proud I’ve made it eight years since that sudden rock bottom. I’m proud of my new semicolon tattoo (totally showing it off in that pic), which I hope will be a way for me to raise mental health awareness for those who ask about it (for background information about how the semicolon has become a symbol of mental health awareness and suicide prevention, check it out. I’ve been shocked to discover how strong I can be, and I’m proud of my strength.
For those of you who fight bipolar, depression, anxiety, or any other mental disorder, I know it can be lonely. But whether you decide to talk about it publicly or share with only a few people you trust, know that you do not fight your battle alone. One in five adults struggle with mental illness in this country. You are not alone, and you are strong.
Happy Day of Life, everyone! Thanks for celebrating it with me this year. Feel free to message me if you’d like to talk about any of this—I look forward to it!