Challenging Mental Health Advocates

"Don't give up on somebody with a mental illness. You're finding it hard to be friends with them? They're finding it harder, I promise."

This was a quote I recently read on the good ole' Instagram. I wrote a semi-long comment about how this quote has applied to my life and how I have lost countless friendships due to times where my mental illnesses have acted up, but Instagram only allows such a discussion, which prompted me to continue my story here.

I study in the field of psychology, and I partially work in it, too (currently I'm in-between programs so the job market for someone that is up-and-moving in two months isn't great). People always ask me what got me in to psychology. Was it the fact that my sister studied psychology? Did I have some "extreme dark place in your life that made you want to change the world?" (often said VERY sarcastically). I always say "no" to both of those, because frankly that's not why I'm a part of the psychology community. Yes, I have had many dark places in my life — that doesn't mean that I suddenly feel as though I can change the world. I understand that the world is only semi-changeable, and honestly all I want to do is make a positive impact in someone's life. However, one of my cohort members did go through an extremely difficult time when she started our Master's program due to the intensity and her unpreparedness for it. Personally I feel as though that experience has motivated her more to strive for accomplishment in the field of psychology. I also see her post about how certain mental illnesses need to be recognized and that those illnesses do not define the person.

Yes, I agree that a mental illness does not define a person; a person defines a person. Yes, I agree that certain mental illnesses that are less commonly heard of do need to be recognized. And yes, I wholeheartedly agree that the wall of stigma surrounding mental illness needs to come crashing down.

I greatly appreciate all of the awareness that is being spread about mental illnesses and how they are more common than people realize. I appreciate the fact that the stigma is becoming lessened and that people feel more open to talking about their struggles. What do I not appreciate? When the same people that post things on social media that try to raise awareness about mental illness and how sometimes all someone who suffers from a mental illness needs is a friend, but then that person leaves the friend that desperately needs help.

As stated earlier, my Master's program was EXTREMELY intense. It was shortened into 1.5 years (most other Master's programs run between 2-2.5 years), and required the students to take 12 graduate credits for 3 consecutive semesters (full-time for a graduate student is often recognized as 9 credits, and many schools do not allow their graduate students to go above that number).

I was coming off of my second semester and going into the summer semester. At that point in my life I was working at least two jobs and interning at two different locations. One of my jobs was ending soon and would be pretty inconsistent throughout the summer, so I needed to pick up more hours at my other job. Since that job pays practically unlivable wages, I needed to work 30+ hour weeks, all done in the span of two days (Saturday and Sunday), since I needed to be at my internships on both Fridays and Mondays. That, with school on top of it, was steadily bringing me down. I could feel my immune system going, and I could feel my exhaustion increase to almost unmanageable levels. The summer semester ended towards the end of June, so at least after that I was able to breathe a little more. Well, actually it basically just meant I was picking up more hours at my job. Apparently when you're forced to do this "adulting" thing, you need to have another thing called "money" which can only really be obtained by having a thing called a "job." Whoever created this system must not have been in their right mind.

Anyways, the rest of that summer entailed working seven-day weeks, with the occasional six-day week. Sometimes I would go from an internship to my job, just so I could make ends meet since they were unpaid internships. As the summer went on my main contact was with my residents and people in jail (where I interned). That's not due to lack of trying to hang out with people from my cohort; it was due to people from my cohort either not responding to my text messages or saying they're too busy.

As the weeks went on I steadily became burned out; it didn't help that both my job and internship sites were places where the burnout rate is incredibly high. I started drinking excessive amounts of caffeine in order to stay awake for more than 10 minutes; I started falling asleep at work and at my internships (although, to be fair, there was a lot of down-time at my internships); I worked out sporadically rather than on a schedule (which is not something that is good for me); and ultimately, I became more and more irritable.

Did I love what I was doing? Yes. I loved my internships, and at the time I loved my job (I still do, but there are many problems with it that are steadily getting to me more and more). What I didn't love? How isolated I was becoming. Now, for those who know me, they know I'm a pretty isolated person and like to keep to myself. Because of that, I often say that I'm like a cat, 'I can take care of myself for the most part but should probably be checked in on every once in a while.' I still hold true to this statement, but at the time I wasn't getting checked in on.

My mentality started taking a swift downward turn. My irritability was getting to be at an all-time high, and my sarcasm was becoming more and more negative. I was constantly studying for my upcoming comprehensive exams, while also working full-time and completing incredibly stressful projects for class. I started losing faith in myself, which is potentially one reason why I was becoming more negative not only towards other people, but about other people. At one point just before my lowest point (talked about in Exposing the Darkness from Inside) one of my friends called me a cunt. Yes, I was probably acting as one since I was using another member from my cohort whom I had been severely agitated with for many months for numerous reasons as an example for when different types of psychological symptoms could be seen (or when we were talking about how to detect malingering/properly use the ECST-R — a psychological test, I truly can't remember the subject). What I do remember was I was shit-talking her intelligence (because, I will still say it, she was not the sharpest knife in the drawer).

My agitation towards this person also got to be excessive not just because I continually felt as though she used me (even if she may not have realized it), but because she was getting jobs and she got a spot at an internship site that I had applied, but not received. I kept thinking to myself, 'Am I really that dumb? Am I really stupider than her? Why is she able to get these things but I'm not?' People have yelled at me regarding comparison of myself to others, but when it's something you've grown up doing, it's kind of hard to stop. It's especially hard to stop when you are burning yourself out from trying to make ends meet.

At other times during that semester we were required to submit personal narratives relating articles we were assigned to read to life at our internship sites or jobs. I had completed my internships, but I constantly felt as though I wasn't getting the full-benefit from them. As a graduate student, generally more hands-on internships are coveted, but one of mine was purely observational (which was really good for me since I learn by seeing) and the other was only for the summer (where I applied what I learned at the observational internship). However, other people in my cohort kept talking about their experiences and I steadily became less and less secure in what I did and what I was currently doing with my life. Looking back, yes, I potentially could have gotten more from a different internship site, but at the ones I went to I learned a tremendous amount and had a lot of fun while there.

Anyways, I continually closed myself off; I wanted to hide the struggle I was going through, because I've lost plenty of friends and acquaintances due to symptoms of mental illness. At work I did not feel competent (both jobs). I was glad my tutoring center had a new director whom I was more comfortable with, but I kept feeling as though I was not qualified to help others. That feeling continued to grow, and as the other not-so-bright individual kept getting positives thrown towards her, I kept sinking deeper and deeper into darkness.

It was not just my mentality that was going — my physical health was going as well. I was getting chest pain on a daily basis, which prompted several trips to the ER even though nothing was ever found; my stomach kept cramping and feeling as though there were sharp needles stabbing every part of my GI tract (no, I was not on my period many of the times this happened); I continually felt nauseous and half-survived off of Dramamine; I got headaches that made me want to shrink into physical darkness; my balance became off-kilter; my fatigue was getting worse and worse (there were multiple days where I called in sick to work because I physically could not get out of bed, and I hate calling out of work); my concentration was starting to become non-existent; I was constantly dizzy; and my heart rate would take hours (no exaggeration) to come down after a workout (one time it was at 130 bpm three hours after I had finished my workout). My mom said it was stress, but I wasn't sure. It could have been, or maybe something was physically wrong with my body.

One night where these symptoms popped up I drove myself to the ER (roughly an hour away) because no one would take me, and it got to the point where I felt as though something was seriously wrong (those who know me also know that I despise going to the doctor for any reason). My nausea was excessive, as was the pain in my stomach and chest. Even though I was sitting hunched over, clutching my stomach, when placed in any room, I did not ask for a doctor or nurse (I mean, this is coming from the girl who drove herself an hour to the hospital because she 1. didn't want to call an ambulance, and 2. was unable to contact anyone that was willing to help her). While I was clutching my stomach I was also texting two of my friends - one was back in my home-state, and one lived by the hospital I was at.

I kept asking if the friend near me was willing to come to the hospital, but he kept saying he had other things. I was on the verge of tears this entire time, partially because of the pain, and partially because I could feel how little he actually cared. Towards the end of our conversation I basically snapped at him, telling him that he can cut the bullshit and just say he didn't want to come. He tried to say that if that was the case he would have just said that, "since that was where [he] felt our friendship was at," but I didn't believe it. Sitting in that hospital room I felt even more alone than I had before.

The semester continued on, and I continued to feel alone, agitated, and incompetent in everything I did. I also began to have symptoms of psychosis develop again (they had started the previous semester, which I told a psychiatrist about but she didn't believe me and I also told a friend but she didn't do anything). I began to once again have excessive paranoia; I felt as though everyone was following me and out to get me. I felt as though whenever a car came behind me, that it was following me and wanted to hurt me. I felt as though any look given to me had secret underlying meanings — all of which were negative. I started hearing things. One time I heard voices as though a radio or television was left on in the first floor of my house (my room was on the second), but whenever I went to check, nothing was on. I started seeing things. When I was driving I thought I saw different shapes, which caused me to slam on my brakes a couple of times. I thought I saw shadows in my house, but whenever I went to check, nothing was there. My paranoia and other symptoms continued to intensify, and I'm not actually sure when they began to lessen again. I still feel as though cars behind me are following me specifically and I still feel as though I see shapes and figures on the road. I'm not sure what it means, and I'm not sure if it's due to stress or if it's due to slowly delving into the world of psychosis. As a psychology major, I know that my age is generally the time when psychosis begins to appear, which doesn't really help anything.

My irritation increased, and I knew I was pushing people away. But honestly, could you blame me? After having many indications that you don't actually mean anything to anyone near you, pushing those people away just kind of seems a natural response. Unfortunately, as my irritation and isolation increased, so did my symptoms.

When I reached my breaking point I called out to friends to help me, even though it was one of the last things I wanted to do. I tried to get help from several people — none of whom actually helped me. The most helpful person was roughly 1300 miles away, which ultimately was only so-helpful. I'm not going to go in to that breaking point, because that was written about in another piece on here, so if you want to read about that, feel free to go to "Exposing the Darkness from Inside."

Was I good friend during these months of spiraling downward? No. Was I bitch? Yes. Was I justified? Partially. I live in the world of psychology — both due to suffering from mental illnesses and from majoring in the subject — and so I am constantly around others in the same world (to an extent. Most of them just seem to study it). One of the basic rules in psychology — especially if one wishes to be a clinician — is to get others comfortable asking for help. "Asking for help is the first step." Yeah, but I asked for help and didn't receive it. Specifically, I asked for help from people studying psychology who knew about the importance of having people ask for help, and didn't receive it.

So, to all those mental health advocates out there:

Don't give up on a friend with mental illness, but also don't allow that person to isolate him or herself. They're irritable? Okay. Does that irritability potentially have an underlying reason? Potentially, especially if the person is known to have a mental illness (which my friends did know). The person suffering likely knows that they're becoming difficult to be around, and so they try to hide their true emotions. I wrote about my irritability, but what was also true during that time was that I tried to hide my emotions and irritability from everyone. I've pushed away many friends — many of which were pushed away when my symptoms were acting up. No, don't let yourself be dragged down, but don't let that person go on being alone.

Being friends with someone struggling with mental illness is hard; what's harder is trying to hide the illness because you know no one will come to your aid.