…but I posted this to my personal Facebook page today:
“Living with mental illness is difficult in ways you wouldn’t even imagine if you are on the outside. If you are blessed to have mental stability you will likely look at those who are not in disbelief, perhaps disgust. What you may not be aware of is, we look at ourselves in the same manner. While there are always exceptions to the norm, most of us don’t use our diagnosis as an excuse to act out. We don’t automatically chalk up our mistakes in life to “eh, I’m crazy, what did you expect?” On the contrary, we beat ourselves up relentlessly for every impulsive move we’ve ever made. We hate what we are, how we act, the pain we tend to inflict on others with our seemingly foolish words and actions. When we are well, we may fit in as well as the next person. But when we are not, it shows. It shows in horribly damaging ways, to both our own reputations and to the well-being of the ones we care the most about.
We don’t flaunt the fact that we have some “cool” diagnosis like bipolar or schizophrenia, or whatever label we’ve been penned with. More often it’s a name worn more like the scarlet letter; we’d give anything to shed the reasons why we were diagnosed as such.
I am not blind to the people who see me as a different person than I was years before. I am not deaf to the mean things some say. I often think those same things about myself. I tell myself I have no illness; I am simply a very bad, sinful person who did these things on purpose. Despite what doctors and therapists tell me, I still choose to blame myself for things I can never undo. I feel like I deserve that punishment. And some (not all) of you on my friends’ list, I know, tend to think the same way about me. You may act sweetly to me, but I know you think bad things about me. That’s okay. I don’t blame you.
It’s why I am so wary of medicine. When I so desperately wanted relief from the symptoms I had around the time of my diagnosis I dumbly trusted whatever prescription was thrown at me to make me well. Instead of making me well, I progressed to having stupid delusions, leaving my family, yada yada. We all know the story (or the rumors, at least). Later, certain medications DID work, and I resumed stability. But the damage was already done. Some things you can’t fix. And you can never, ever forget.
So now I find myself in that scary place again, where I know I need some form of treatment (because, believe it or not, faith in God’s healing alone usually does not cure mental illness, just like it doesn’t always cure cancer or any other illness) and yet I am so frightened by the prospect of trying something new. Because I lost my whole world back in 2006. How could I ever survive losing it again, especially if it was by my own doing?
So, why am I sharing this on my Facebook page? Why, when I try so hard to maintain a healthy, “normal” display of myself on here? Well, there are a few reasons:
1.) It’s my page and basically I have the right to post whatever I want.
2.) I’m tired of pretending.
3.) Maybe it will help someone who is going through something similar.
Those are enough reasons for me 😉 “