Coming Out As Mentally Ill; My Story

So, I have had a few 'coming out' moments in my life. Coming out as liberal in a conservative household, a tea drinker amongst coffee lovers, and of course the classic, coming out as gay. All of these things came so naturally to me, I was proud of them, and they helped shape my identity. Don't get me wrong, they were still terrifying moments, but ultimately these comings out, whether they be trivial or life changing, made me feel complete, more fully formed. Coming out as mentally ill was an entirely different kettle of fish.

Now, please don't think I am conflating my gayness with my illness! But, both take time and meditation to come to terms with, both still carry the baggage of social stigma, and both can entail the awkward sit down with the family. However, the difference is; I wear my lesbian badge with pride, while, my clinical depression is a scar I wear across my heart, one I tried desperately to hide. I was not proud of it, I was not excited to tell anyone, nor did I want it to form a part of my character. To me, this coming out was not a celebration, but a failure.

To - rather fittingly - channel Freud for a moment, this all stems from my childhood and my parents, my father to be precise. The last one to shout Electra complex is a rotten egg! Daddy issues, a little cliche I know, but a sorely over looked and much joked about part of modern culture. My father was a carpenter. At work he would spend all day fitting kitchens and putting up sheds, but at home, in his own workshop, he would craft the most beautiful pieces of furniture. However, if the slightest thing went wrong, he would carry it out into the garden and smash it with a mallet. He was a perfectionist. And he saw his children in the same way as his half finished projects, full of potential but always balancing on the edge of imperfection. Having any form of mental abnormality, we were always taught, was not perfection. Smash us up and start again.

After the fourth break down in ten years my partner, heart sick at seeing me intermittently turning into a dulled, anxious shadow of my usual self, gave me the nudge I needed to finally see a doctor. That's how I found myself in an emergency care clinic, surrounded by doctors and social workers. It was a frightening experience, of course they had my best interests at heart, but my depression addled brain could not help but picture that terrifying scene in The Wizard of Oz Two, when little Dorothy is receiving electroshock treatment (if you haven't seen it...maybe that's for the best!). My life changed in so many ways in that room. It was there that I was told I would have to take antidepressants for the foreseeable future and have to have therapy. In hindsight, this was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. Spoilers, my life has improved vastly since I started taking medication, I adore my therapist, and my doctors have been wonderful. But, at the time, it was a crushing blow.

I told my partner first, who was utterly amazing, and is my rock to this day. Coming out to them was not hard, they held my hand through appointments, and picked up my prescriptions when I was just too damn sad to get out of bed. Coming out to myself was the first hurdle. it has been a long race, and the finishing line is still in the distance, but I have made a lot of progress with these pieces of advice, courtesy of my therapists and loved ones:

• Look at it like any other illness - physical ailments don't have nearly the same level of stigma, feel proud and to talk to people about it and educate
• Take your medication - if you require medication, take it. There is no shame in taking anti depressants or any other kind of medication if you need it. As my therapist said, if you had diabetes it would not be defeatist to take insulin.
• It is part of you but it does not define you - Having any illness means coming to terms with that fact that it is part of who you are, and for some, will be determine. But it does not have to define who you are.

It is never easy to follow your own advice, especially when it is easier to give into the illness, but with support it is possible. However, this story would not be finished without the moment you have all been waiting for. Coming out to my father. If you have hung on all this time to find out if there was some dramatic show down, or closure bringing moment of catharsis at the end of the play, when everything wraps up neatly and the curtains close...you might be disappointed. But, you might be as surprised as I was by the hug I got, by him asking me if I was ok and if I was taking my medication, by his own story of a nervous break down while he was unable to meet my eyes. I had encountered the 'self hating gay' during my time mixing with the LGBTQ+ community, but I had never met a self hating sufferer of mental illness. One who would deny its existence for so many years because by doing so they momentarily silenced their own demons. He told me he was proud of me, and I was proud of him.

I can't bear to end this on too much of an upbeat, end of the sitcom note. Yes, my father came around, but many others haven't yet, and might never come to terms with mental illnesses. I have friends who cannot look at me in the same way, and family members that do not believe my illness is real. And that is not supposed to dishearten you. If you are reading this because you too want to come out, you will meet those who oppose you, who dislike you by the mere virtue of a condition you were born with. But they, like your illness, does not control you. Break the stigma, and start to live as the complete you.