My recent hospitalization was an amazing weight loss program, though I did like the fruitloops
It is easy to say the stigma of mental health is getting better when you are chatting with a trusted friend while sipping on a 900 calorie cup of coffee talking about your anxiety over how to raise perfect children that eat solely organic food. It’s easy for a celebrity to share that they have struggled with suicidal ideation, protected by their status or their ability to kick someone’s ass if they look at them the wrong way. It’s easy for someone to like a page on Facebook that supports mental health awareness or follow an Instagram page that tells you to breathe deep while walking in nature.
A little over a month ago, I was hospitalized for four days. I had three visitors, and few people knew or still know about it. Before I left the hospital, I braided my hair the best I could with the tiny rubber bands they give pre-teens for their braces, put on my most socially acceptable clothes that were free of any strings, took a deep breath, and tried to hide the exhaustion and hurt that I still felt from the world. This was my fifth hospitalization.
In the media, you often see people with mental health described as crazy or dangerous. I worked in environments where people talked as if someone’s mental health was their sole identity, where they described them as hopeless and explained to me how you wouldn’t want to work with “one of those.”
So why didn’t I speak up during that meeting hearing my team talk about a “crazy” client that was incapable of change when I had the same and more diagnosis? Why didn’t more people visit me in the hospital? Why do I put on a face and lie when people ask, “How are you doing?”?
Answering that is pretty simple, I was/am scared. I was afraid of losing my job or respect from my colleagues. I was frightened of losing my identity and being seen only for my mental illness. I was terrified that people might think that I am crazy, dangerous, or weak.
I don’t think that I am the only scared one. Starting from a young age, many people are afraid of the dark; more specifically, they are fearful of what might be lurking in the dark. People with mental illness live in darkness. Our truths are a mystery to many. Because we are unseen, this leaves people assuming the worst, picturing the monster waiting for them in their closet. Instead of turning on a lamp to see that the shadow of the Joker about to kill us is really just a birthday balloon, we get locks for our doors, barricade the closet shut and run up the basement stairs like there is a grizzly chasing us.
It seems like we have gotten stuck in a vicious cycle. People living with mental health are afraid to share their experiences due to the stigma associated with them, making the darkness larger, reinforcing the stigma, and, in turn, making people feel more isolated and ashamed.
In my not so clinical opinion, living in the dark sucks. I don’t want to be ashamed of having a life-long illness that I didn’t choose to have. I never want to feel weak because I needed to get treatment for my illness. What I want is to be seen as my quirky, passionate, imperfect self, who sometimes needs treatment for an illness. I’m not sure how to stop the cycle, but maybe it would help if we all just reached over and turned on a lamp.
A little over a month ago, I was hospitalized for four days. I had three visitors, and few people knew or still know about it. Before I left the hospital, I braided my hair the best I could with the tiny rubber bands they give pre-teens for their braces, put on my most socially acceptable clothes that were free of any strings, took a deep breath, and tried to hide the exhaustion and hurt that I still felt from the world. This was my fifth hospitalization.
In the media, you often see people with mental health described as crazy or dangerous. I worked in environments where people talked as if someone’s mental health was their sole identity, where they described them as hopeless and explained to me how you wouldn’t want to work with “one of those.”
So why didn’t I speak up during that meeting hearing my team talk about a “crazy” client that was incapable of change when I had the same and more diagnosis? Why didn’t more people visit me in the hospital? Why do I put on a face and lie when people ask, “How are you doing?”?
Answering that is pretty simple, I was/am scared. I was afraid of losing my job or respect from my colleagues. I was frightened of losing my identity and being seen only for my mental illness. I was terrified that people might think that I am crazy, dangerous, or weak.
I don’t think that I am the only scared one. Starting from a young age, many people are afraid of the dark; more specifically, they are fearful of what might be lurking in the dark. People with mental illness live in darkness. Our truths are a mystery to many. Because we are unseen, this leaves people assuming the worst, picturing the monster waiting for them in their closet. Instead of turning on a lamp to see that the shadow of the Joker about to kill us is really just a birthday balloon, we get locks for our doors, barricade the closet shut and run up the basement stairs like there is a grizzly chasing us.
It seems like we have gotten stuck in a vicious cycle. People living with mental health are afraid to share their experiences due to the stigma associated with them, making the darkness larger, reinforcing the stigma, and, in turn, making people feel more isolated and ashamed.
In my not so clinical opinion, living in the dark sucks. I don’t want to be ashamed of having a life-long illness that I didn’t choose to have. I never want to feel weak because I needed to get treatment for my illness. What I want is to be seen as my quirky, passionate, imperfect self, who sometimes needs treatment for an illness. I’m not sure how to stop the cycle, but maybe it would help if we all just reached over and turned on a lamp.
You are one of the strongest people I have the privilege to know. Never feel you have to hide your feelings from me. I love you no matter how you feel. Lights on over here for you!
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