I’ve always been fascinated by the human mind. I’ve always wondered what made it tick? What makes it function? And better yet, what makes it MALfunction? When I was younger, I wanted to be a forensic psychologist, mainly because I wanted to interview serial killers. Gruesome, I know. But I wanted to know what happened in their path, what happens in their minds that allows them to do what they do with no guilt or remorse. The brain is something that is supposed to put us as humans in control. Control of our lives, our destinies, our choices, and our behaviors. But what about when the brain is out of control? Why does the human brain of some people allow them to suffer and struggle with daily life, or limit them from making any of those choices in a healthy way?
How apropos that I’ve decided to make my newest blog topic about mental health… In the middle of writing this post, I found out that the month of May is National Mental Health Awareness Month. This is a topic I hold very dearly to me, but will be the most difficult topic I’ve broached thus far in my blog. Because of my desire to not violate the privacy of others in my life, it will be nearly impossible for me to fully share and relate my personal experiences with mental illness and why it’s so important to me to discuss. So I will only say this. I have a lot of people near and dear to me who suffer all kinds of types of mental illness. Some are related to me, some are my closest friends, some have been hospitalized, some have attempted suicide, some think about suicide on a regular basis, some have depression, some have anxiety, some are obsessive-compulsive, some are bipolar, some have borderline personality disorder, some have hypochondria, some have phobias, some have eating disorders or body distortion issues, some are medicated, some are in therapy or have been previously, some have abused drugs or alcohol in direct relation to their mental state, some are married, some are single, some are parents, some have gotten better over time, some have gotten worse over time, and some have stayed the same over time. I can’t (and won’t) share their stories, even as examples, because so many of you know me in real life, and they’re not my stories to share. But I’ve listed enough above for you to understand that A) I’m surrounded by mental illness in my daily life and grew up with it around me, B) it affects people that I’m extremely close to and is therefore very important to me, and C) I’m not speaking about one kind of person or one kind of diagnosis, because the people I love and care about are all over the spectrum.
What I CAN (and will) share from my personal perspective is my own diagnosis of mental illness. At this point, I’ll transition from using the term “mental illness” and replace it with “mental health”. Because as an educator and friend shared with me, “we all have mental health, some of us just have poor health while others have better health”. To refer to our “biological brain disorders” as a mental illness, implying that the millions who suffer from them are “sick” or “broken”, only exacerbates the stigmas that are attached to them, which you’ll later see is the main purpose for writing this blog entry.
So to share the story of my diagnosis means going back in time (half of my life) to 20 years of age. After months of feeling “not myself” and suddenly finding myself feeling fearful to do things that I used to be just fine doing, I went to a bunch of medical doctors to receive a series of tests, all meant to rule out anything serious. I would be at work and literally get so dizzy I’d have to lay down to keep from passing out. There were times that I felt so bad, I was sure I was dying and should probably be in a hospital. In these tests, they checked my heart, they checked my brain, my inner ears, my blood work, I endured some pretty grueling and uncomfortable medical tests only to be told repeatedly that I was fine. I would tell them, I’m not fine! I’m sick every single day. I am 20 years old! Twenty-year-olds shouldn’t feel like this every day. After having every test come back normal, a doctor suggested that I see a psychologist. I was offended and pissed off. What was the MATTER with these doctors!? This was NOT in my head! I was physically sick! I was so completely convinced that what I was feeling was physical, and not mental, that I almost didn’t agree to see the psychologist. I thought they were trying to say I was imagining it. I guess when it comes down to the truth: I thought they were trying to say I was crazy.
Somehow, I agreed to go and the psychologist spent a good 30 minutes asking me to describe all of my symptoms. Dizziness, weakness, shortness of breath, sweating or cold and clammy out of the blue. Eventually, he handed me a book and sent me home with it. Asking me to read the first chapter or two and tell him what I thought. I went home that night and read the first chapter while the author literally described his own version of every single thing that I was feeling, thinking and experiencing. I read his words and thought, “Oh my God! Yes, exactly! This is what I have! This is what’s wrong with me!” That was the day I was diagnosed with social anxiety disorder, panic disorder, and mild agoraphobia. I finally received a “name” for what was wrong with me. Surprisingly, I felt so relieved because I knew it wasn’t imagined. I had an actual name for what I was feeling, and I had validation that there were others out there just like me.
I won’t go into a lot of the science behind my diagnosis, but I researched the crap out of it and wanted to fill my mind with facts on the what’s and why’s. If you know anything about adrenaline or “fight or flight response” then you’re ahead of the game. But basically it boils down to the feeling you get if you’re walking through a dark house, can’t find the light switch, and think you hear something or someone moving inside the room. You feel your heart racing, you can hardly breathe, you start to sweat, you may feel dizzy, you could even faint. But that’s a normal reaction to a situation where fear is a normal response. What happens with panic disorder, (which is what makes it a disorder in the first place) is that I feel that same way as the person in the dark room, but for no reason at all. Nothing reasonably scary is happening in my world at the moment to trigger that reaction, and my body just incorrectly starts to produce too much adrenaline when there’s not a need for it. I could be walking through the grocery store, and for no reason at all, feel I have to get out of there. So in essence, it IS physical, what happens to me. It’s triggered by something mental, and something chemical, but its effects on me are strongly physical. A mental disorder that affects me in a very real and very physical way.
I can’t even begin to explain how much it affected my life and my relationships after I was diagnosed. For the longest time, I didn’t talk about it at all. I was too embarrassed. I didn’t know how to explain something like that to anyone without sounding, well, crazy. People I did talk to didn’t understand. They’d say things to me like “just tell yourself you’re ok, take deep breaths”. As if that wasn’t something I had already tried a thousand times. And for someone like me, someone who most of you know as being pretty strong, together, even a little controlling, (ok ha ha, more than a little), it was so tough for me to admit to myself, let alone others, that I had no control over this thing, it completely had control of me. It affected my social life, and I found myself avoiding. I’m not an avoider. But here I was avoiding certain places, certain people, certain events and functions, because of an irrational fear that it would trigger a panic attack. I then began having anticipatory anxiety, the anxiety that builds throughout the day when you know you have to do something later that you don’t want to do, or you think might trigger an anxiety attack. It spiraled out of control. It affected my relationships when people thought I was avoiding them for other reasons. I eventually started talking more openly about it, like I did with Jackpot before we got married. He was the first significant other I ever discussed it with. He was very understanding and patient. But it eventually affected my marriage when I didn’t always want to travel or do certain things that he did want to do, and I felt guilty about holding him back. I was taking medication and attending therapy, but I still found it easier to avoid things. And the list of things I wanted to avoid grew and grew. After I had the twins, I was essentially homebound for a period of 3-4 months. I couldn’t bear the thought of being somewhere alone with 2 babies and feeling like I needed to get out of there or I may lose control. I was responsible for them now, how could I take that risk? I had put myself into my own internal and external prison, but I didn’t even know where to find the key.
I will jump ahead to today by saying I still have anxiety disorder. I still take medication for it and go to therapy. I still get embarrassed to talk about it, and I’m mostly embarrassed that my kids have grown up well aware of their mother’s condition, and I have true sadness for how I have seen it affect their lives at times. But it’s better, it’s way more manageable, and I push myself in ways today that I couldn’t back then. I still have things I choose not to do, if given the option. But I try to make those choices from a stronger place now. Taking back control of my brain and my life.
So why have I chosen to share this story with you all today? It’s part of my passion, in all my good intentions, to advocate for those who fight prejudices from others, and shame from themselves over something beyond their control. Biological brain disorders – “BBD’s”- (or what others call mental illnesses or diagnoses) are chemical imbalances in the brain. They are often hereditary, and certainly can be influenced by outside conditions and triggers. But just like cancer often runs in families and can be exacerbated by smoking, BBD’s are no different. Only we, as a society, have been conditioned to see them differently. We shame ourselves and others. We whisper about our own family members. We are quick to judge, and we project our own fears of things we can’t explain or things we don’t like about ourselves onto others. We simply must, as a society, stop the stigmas which bury people that we love into silence. We don’t question when someone we know takes insulin because they’re diabetic. But we cringe to think about a discussion about anti-depressants or (God forbid) anti-psychotics. This is so sad. And it’s so wrong. It’s time for people to seek treatment for the chemical over- or under-productions in their brains, and to feel comfortable doing so.
Each year, over 34,000 people die by taking their own lives. It is estimated that of all the people to commit suicide, over 90% of them struggle with mental illness. In fact, being mentally ill is the number one risk factor for suicide. There is a huge demand for education and training in so many areas, today. The Psychology field itself, hospitals and medical doctors, schools and universities, and law enforcement are just a few of the industries that are still severely lacking in effective educational training programs to properly address those who suffer.
But it all starts with us. You. Me. Them. It’s about understanding. Human kindness. Sympathy and empathy. There is a piece in all of us that could, if we tried, make a huge difference in someone else life, simply by listening, without judgement, understanding, without exceptions, and loving, without boundaries. So, THAT, my friends is how you shatter the stigmas, break the silence, and help people heal. Because those who need help can only get it when the find the courage to seek it.
For more information about National Mental Health Month, please visit www.nami.org.
And here you can enjoy a little moment of my old friend Rob Thomas and Matchbox 20 with “Unwell”. http://youtu.be/WziA88-n02k
