Stigma

Today, on a message board, someone told me I shouldn't joke about having mental illness. Excuse me?

Yes, she went on to say, because someone she knew got stabbed by someone with mental illness. I'm sorry, but to my mind, it's not surprising. I've gone into this before: it's nearly impossible to get treatment for a mental illness in America.

If I became delusional and locked myself in a closet, I'd get a quickie "shot in the butt" treatment and they'd throw me back out on the street before I woke up again, doing nothing to treat the underlying cause. I've seen it. God, the paperwork alone would kill a normal person, much less someone who isn't in reality!

Why is it so easy for my husband to go to an emergency room and get treatment for physical pain, yet, when I went to the same hospital suicidal they gave me a pat on the head, a few names and numbers, and best wishes? The hospital asked detailed questions about my husband's living situation, nutrition, etc. Me? "Did I have a plan?" No? OK, see ya! Don't let that door hit'cha on the way out, Heather!

I'm not bitter, I'm just resigned. Everyone seems so shocked when someone with mental illness commits a crime. It's inevitable, people. When psych meds, assuming you can find a doctor like my aunt did, costing hundreds to thousands a month, and many people with mental illness basically unemployable, what do you expect? Who's going to bring proof of residence and all the other crap when you're convinced the government is out to get you?

In all honesty, I am probably only one week away from living under a bridge. If I stopped my meds, I would crash in a rapid and dramatic fashion. I always remember I'm only a few missed doses away from the Bad Times.

And why is it so shameful to say I have bipolar disorder? This same woman, who claims an unspecified "mental illness, but I don't talk about it all the time like Heather does". Hm.

We, Americans, Society as a whole, have this attitude that a mental illness is akin to a bowel movement. You have to hide it very, very, well, and never, ever talk about it?

WHY, DAMNIT? I can help people! I have!

I shared my experiences with a friend as I began my medication routine. How wonderful it was not to be suicidal! Really, he asked? I was suicidal? Yes. I told him, all I'd think about day in and day out was killing myself. Now I don't.

He mentioned very offhandedly that he got a little depressed sometimes and wondered if "something" would help. I encouraged him to try something, and told him "It's a brain thing, it's not you. You're fine. You would take medicine for your heart, wouldn't you?" Put that way, he did.

"I'm a whole new man, Heather."

Many times, when I mention my illness, I get questions. What is it, exactly? I tell them. Oh, OK. I'm educating. And when my aunt's friend's daughter got diagnosed, I told her "You have to get Mom the Bipolar Survival Guide." Now Mom has tools, information, and someone to call if she has questions.

If we with mental illness were more evangelistic about it, we'd eliminate the stigma. Sure, we'll always have weasels who tell us to shove our ligth under a bushel, don't make noise, don't talk about it.

But guess what, my husband pays my check. Not them.

I guess I should look into joining http://nami.org . Huh?