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Bigger Than Band-Aids

A Subjective Testimony on the Feeling of Mental Illness

By DianaPublished 6 years ago 8 min read
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Doctor Dan, A Little Golden Book

Imagine a factory. Clean, as if you could hear a single speck of dust hitting the cold, concrete ground. The rhythm of the methodical processes; a sound that assures you that all the parts of the process are functioning correctly. A line of small packages travel down the line as if coasting on a thin layer of ice. The packages approach a fork in their path; while most continue, a few fall into a long, dark metallic void.

At the end of the day, those packages are labeled as damaged. They total 18.2% of the day's production.

18.2% of the U.S. population battles mental illness. That totals about 42.5 million individual experiences. No experience is alike, and no experience is more painful than the next. Pain is relative, but I would hypothesize that many of us have had the passing thought of, "Why does my brain work this way?"

"Damaged goods." A phrase often used by those living with mental illness. When I say the phrase aloud, it sounds unconvincing and clichéd. But as I listen to my thoughts, and feel the outcome of their weight, I truly do feel damaged.

My depression feels like a glass bubble in the middle of my chest. Empty, but at risk of shattering at any moment. The shards of glass bound to inflict further harm. But while that pressure sits in my chest, my heart feels like it is encased in resin, with nothing coming in, and nothing coming out. So numb that I can no longer even pretend to be happy for the benefit for those around me.

I sit in a room full of people and I feel as if I am on the outside looking in. I am there, but I am not there. And what separates me, from myself, is semi-permeable fog that only allows negative emotions and interactions to pass through. While there may be positive things happening, I cannot register them, because I cannot see or receive them. And while I cannot feign happiness to make those people happy, I am drowned by guilt. A guilt that traps me in a vicious cycle of unhappiness, guilt, hatred of myself, and thus, unhappiness again.

As someone who has always been described as highly empathic, I feel in extremes even outside of my depression. I give everything I have to those that I love, regardless if it will cause me personal harm. And when I feel let down by those people or if I feel as if I have let them down, I feel so low that I believe I have no purpose anymore—not to them, and therefore, not to anyone.

If I were to detail my whole experience I do not think that I could ever find a point at which to end. This short description can only touch on the complexity of what I and so many others feel.

I sometimes question if I somehow want to feel this way, and if I am my own roadblock to feeling better. But what I have come to know is that no person would ever want to feel this way. Unfortunately for me, I had to come to this realization a few minutes after self-harming. In that moment, I realized that I was not in control. Most human beings hold a deep aversion to physical pain. Who would want to intentionally inflict harm on themselves?

In feeling so flawed, and frustrated that I could not change my thought patterns because I kept my depression to myself for eight years, or respond to medication because of the same fact, I felt almost less than human. As an analytical and highly self-aware person, I hind-sighted my actions and realized that I was trying to prove to myself that I was human. That I was not different from anyone else.

I like to think of myself as intelligent, and in being raised by two psychiatrists, I know that mental illness is an illness like any other. But in trying to explain that to those close to me, I became conflicted because of the differences in feedback that I received. The pain of my illness, and the pain I caused myself recently can in no way compare to the pain after a loved one responds to your panic attack by telling you that you are being extreme, are overreacting, and need to relax. The pain is taken to the next level when you go to who you thought was a safe person, a person whom you would do anything for, and they yell at you that they don't have the time for you right now, that they are going to shut off their phone and go to bed.

Many would say to cut that person off. That they would be so angry and hurt if anyone did that too them, and that if they do not understand they do not care. That I should not waste my time. But that is not what I feel. What I feel is guilt, and personal responsibility. I view their actions or lack thereof as my fault. That I put too much on them, or that I did something to them to make them view me as unworthy. I then worry about what they are feeling in that moment, and in the days to follow. I re-enter into that cycle: guilt, hatred of myself, unhappiness, guilt…

So, what now? I’ve proven that I am human, but then I am left feeling like a terrible one. That I have failed those that I love the most. And that I have loved them too much. That I love wrong. Humans are inherently social beings, and I cannot do that right.

So even now, my first instinct is to fix the perceived or real harm I have inflicted on those around me, not to help myself. And as I said before, I cannot find a meaningful ending to this post. But what I would like to suggest is that there is no ending to one’s happiness. There is always a way to find it again. In bits and pieces, in moments and minutes.

After that first call failed... I called my mom. She calmed me down, made sure I felt safe, and helped me make a plan of action. While I was still worried about making her upset, I felt a moment of happiness—a moment of hope.

Some Takeaways...

My own personal recommendations for those with mental illness and their loved ones. I am not a mental health professional, and my recommendations are based on personal experience.

1. Never feel guilty about telling someone your feelings.

My biggest regret is waiting so long before asking for help. I believed that it would tarnish my character, and cause too much pain for my loved ones. Neither are true. Speaking up is a sign of strength, and you cannot get better on your own. Those who love you will always worry, but they can help keep you accountable. If you are interested in talking to an objective, trained counselor, use this resource to look for one in your area. (Covers the U.S., Canada, and the U.K.)

2. To support someone who is going through mental illness—educate yourself.

Someone I know always says that they will never have enough emotional intelligence to understand. Unfortunately for them, our brains have this secret weapon called plasticity—meaning that it can adapt and learn new actions, behaviors, and ways of thinking. Take the time to educate yourself on the illness and the appropriate responses to certain situations. But, remember that you are not a licensed health care professional, and your support can only go so far. While supporting your loved one is extremely important, you are not responsible for making them better.

3. Use your voice.

Mental illness is often not spoken about, and those who are struggling with their mental health are reticent to share that information with others. If you are comfortable, speak out about your experience. For me, as someone who is extremely focused on helping others, I openly address my own mental health in conversation and on social media. By normalizing my experience, I hope to help others to do the same. In that I find purpose. If I can help even one person seek help I would have left a meaningful impact on the world.

4. Add your own "help hotlines" to your favorites.

Whether this is a friend who has consented to being there for you in an emergency, the number of your doctor's office, or a help hotline, have these numbers readily accessible. Loved ones—you are not emergency services, have your own "help hotlines" favorited in case of emergency. Here is a short list of hotlines out there.

5. If you chose therapy, learn the goals so that you can level/set your expectations.

My father said to me last night that, "Therapy is not about finding the answer or solutions, it's about finding new perspectives." There never will be a perfect answer or solution, no band-aid that can perfectly cover the wound. But when you can see more options than the ones that present themselves first, you may begin to think differently or becoming more aware of what you are actually feeling. Therapy is also not the end-all-be-all. You may need to combine talk-therapy with things like exercise, diet, medication, and mindfulness.

6. Be honest with your counselor.

I was ashamed of some of the feelings that I had been having. I did not want to fall into a certain category or generalization, and I did not want my life to be put on hold. If I had been upfront, there is a possibility that I may not have harmed myself. Mental health professionals do what they do from a non-judgmental place of objectivity. They want to help you in the best way that they can, and in your best interest. Don't hold back.

7. To the world—there is no one picture of mental illness.

I have always been extremely high-functioning. I completed my degree with honors, have a full-time job, volunteer and more. But I have a complete absence of quality of life. Because of the portrayal and list of symptoms of anxiety and depression, I felt that I could not fit into them. And I heard the world saying to me that I "didn't have it that bad." Don't discount your feelings. And do not think that seeking treatment will discredit your reputation and accomplishments. Your pain is just as important as anyone else's.

depression
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