Five Things I Have Learned

1. Universalism isn’t practical. The same form of treatment won’t work for everyone nor will it work for one person every time. For example, when I receive unsolicited advice, I often feel misunderstood or betrayed. If that seems a bit weird, please explore a glimpse into my perspective:

• When I feel anxious, I don’t want people to advise me on how to make the anxiety go away. The anxiety isn’t going to go away based on simple advice or it’s likely I would have tried that. I want to be accepted despite the anxiety and understood. Then once I feel like my anxiety isn’t something to be ashamed of, we can work together to seek comfort (even if it’s comfort with the anxiety).
• When I feel ashamed, I don’t want people to tell me I have nothing to be ashamed about. If I feel ashamed, I evidently have a different perspective on the matter. When understanding is not sought, I perceive that my feelings are being criticized, leading to further shame.
• When I feel alone, I may draw away, but I don’t want people to abandon me. I want to be shown that I’m not alone through action.
• When I feel confused, I might seek advice. I still want my confusion to be accepted and understood, so that the advice process can be one of collaboration where I have control and can feel empowered as well as supported.

2. There is good and bad in everything. A bad experience with a counselor doesn’t mean they all suck. A good experience with medicine doesn’t mean it will always be necessary.

• “Mental disorder” is a term many have come to understand. There has been a big fight to accept people with mental disorders. Why? Shouldn’t we just be accepting people? We don’t have to ‘accept’ people with broken arms, or ‘accept’ people with fingernails.
• Clustering is great for treatment and communication. Unfortunately, what has happened is that those clusters have been singled out. “Cutters” aren’t people with a history of cutting, they are seen as people defined by an action they choose. When they are labeled as ‘cutters’ they are being shown that they have no control over this action. I thought of myself as a ‘cutter’ for many years, so please let me be among many proclaiming that we’ve got to reconsider how we communicate about issues and the people who are experiencing them. I’m not a ‘cutter’ these days. I never was. I am a person who used to cut myself, and when I saw that I had control, the thoughts I faced telling me that was the answer became a lot easier to fight. I got to feel empowered rather than ashamed.

3. Education is key. I was self-taught on my ‘disorder’ because the treatments of medication and talk therapy didn’t exactly yield understanding.

• When I was twelve, I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder. After many other misdiagnoses, psychiatrists landed on bipolar disorder when I was sixteen. I spent my teenage years trying to figure out who I was not as a friend or a self or a family member, but as someone with a disorder. The impacts of that fact are shameful, but recognition was crucial. If you or a loved one has been diagnosed with any sort of illness—I don’t care if it’s mental or physical—please, please, please make the investment to understand what it means to live with an illness without trying to understand what it means to be the illness.
• Imagine with me for a moment that a doctor tells you at sixteen that you have a non-curable illness. This illness can be treated with medication and therapy. You may experience high moments where you feel really good but take inappropriate risks and then you might go through really low times. This will be cyclical. The doctor tries to help you understand, all the while, he or she doesn’t take a moment to understand what thoughts are going through your mind. The suicide rate of people who have been diagnosed with bipolar disorder is as many as one in five. My speculation as to why it isn’t higher—people with bipolar disorder are incredibly strong. When talking to someone to inform them, take a moment to understand their perception of what you’re saying. My perception when I was told that I had bipolar disorder was as follows: Holly, you’re sick. You might not have thought you were, but you are. It’s never going to get better. We want to make this sickness better for you through intervention. Your feelings to this point were wrong and abnormal. There is no hope for recovery. It took me years to understand that probably wasn’t what the doctor was trying to say. Did I have suicidal thoughts? You bet.

4. There is hope for the suffering. I do not ‘suffer from bipolar disorder’ though I once did. It is not because I am ‘cured’ but because I have learned a lot about managing symptoms. I may need more sleep or to exercise or to eat well consistently or counseling or medication. Please don’t judge me for those needs. I feel so blessed to have a support network that has stood by my side every step of my journey. They make mistakes sometimes and I do too. But together, the fight doesn’t have to be so scary. It doesn’t have to feel so overwhelming. Though a cure may not be out there, there is still hope when I do not feel defined by my disorder. When I am accepted and understood as a person, I am given control.
5. Microaggressions are part of the problem. They may seem harmless, but they compound the stigma. Yesterday, I saw an image suggesting that a certain cluster of people based on physical appearance should consider killing themselves. I do not mention this as an attempt to take away freedom of speech or freedom of expression. I bring this to light because the post is incredibly inconsiderate and I am not sure the person even realized it. These sorts of comments and expressions have crept into our society and I believe they should be challenged if for no other purpose than awareness.

What I’ve done here is talked about my feelings: a phrase that carries stigma in itself. I can point out so many other terms in this post that might lead to judgment, because I understand how thick the stigmas can be. I am not a psychologist. I don’t have any certifications or degrees in the field of psychology. The only qualifications I can offer for my words are more than fourteen years of experience on the patient side. I am not an expert on psychology or mental health. I am, however, deeply passionate about fighting the stigmas. I don’t mean the stigma where I feel judged by misinformed patrons when I reach out for help. I mean the stigmas that I feel when health care providers throw medication at me instead of helping me understand what is happening and show me I’m not alone. I mean the stigmas that I feel which are self-imposed when I start thinking that maybe I’m overreacting. I mean the stigmas that I feel from my loved ones when I feel like they think the problem is going to go away because I am going through treatment. Even in this post, I have felt the need to explain myself. I have felt a strong inclination to select words that I could defend in the case of judgment. I have hope for a world where this is not the case, but I need help. Please help me by setting an example that we can speak out against the stigma. Please don’t ignore this issue. I understand it is scary—I just went through writing this post; feeling anxious and terrified all the while. I am choosing to share because I have hope. I am shamelessly begging you to help spread the word because this cause is worth it.