A rant
I know I am too sensitive about this, but if LJ isn't a place to rant, then nowhere is.
I am mentally ill.
This is not a joke, or a game, or an exaggeration, or a plea for attention. I have chemical imbalances in the way my body is designed that cause me problems.
It has been with me my entire life, to a greater or lesser degree, and exacerbated by environmental conditions. It runs on both sides of my family, and is quite possibly shared by every member of my immediate family.
I have been in therapy and out of therapy and in therapy long enough to have pretty much come to terms with where I am and what I am and who I am. But that will not make this illness go away. What matters now is maintenance - being able to live with it and manage it.
I went without medicine, and with different medicines, and finally two years ago onto the RIGHT combination of medicines for someone who has severe OCD and Bipolar II.
Now. Some of you have known me many, many years, and may know these things. Many people who meet me do not. My OCD is actually a very unusual type - most of my "compulsions" are not physically visible. They are "checks" or internal as opposed to external rituals.
There is a reason I no longer pray. When you spend every night for a year having to pray specifically by name for each and every individual you know to be ok, because if you don't and something happens it will be your fault or something will happen because you don't....well, it's not a place I want to revisit.
I still have issues with medication. There is still this odd stigma in society about mental illness. It's not real. It's a weakness. it's a ploy for attention. It's overdiagnosed, overmedicated, unreal, or dangerous.
I know now that it is chemical because once I got onto the right combo of meds, I realized for the first time how many behaviors I had were not only not usual, but actively a result of the imbalances. Still, there's part of me that stil hears the word "weak" and that annoying little...if only you were stronger, you wouldn't need the medicine.
I've been without the medicine. I can certainly survive without it. Know what I can't do?
Can't go more than an hour without a full blown panic attack. Or without anxiety overtaking my every thought. Can't spend my time thinking what I wish because I'm having to focus constantly on battling back the anxiety or worries or obtrusive thoughts.
So the medicine...is necessary. It's certainly not a magic pill. I still have gone through cognitive behavioral therapy to focus on short circuiting anxiety attacks. I do sometimes still have to ride out and counter an issue. I still have things I'm slowly bringing myself to be able to do. I also am aware of the price I live with. No one knows yet what being on these drugs as long as I have/will be is. There are weight and other side effects that can come with these medicines. I have utterly no desire for children, but if I did, I would have to go off the meds as both can cause birth defects. And that would just be peachy, can you imagine?
I won't pass this to my kids. If I want kids, there's plenty out there who need adopting. And frankly, I'm no fit mother - I need to focus far too much on keeping myself together and sane without adding anything more complex than a cat for long periods of time to the mix.
So I am aware of all this, and where I stand, and what I can and cannot do, and will and will not do.
But people. Oh, people. You can't make a black joke, or a gay joke, or a sexist joke, or an autism joke, but by God, you can make as many mental illness fucking jokes you want, and no one sees a goddamn thing wrong with it. Today's training segued into a discussion of the mind and the mental need for symmetry. Very interesting. A neat conversation about the ingrained habits we have, how the trainer doesn't feel right if he doesn't eat his french fries first or clean the plate.
A coworker? "Ha ha! Having a panic attack over one french fry on a plate, that's classic!"
Oh, and let's not forget the laughing comment of how the length of the relationship lasting until you find out how many prescription bottles are in her medicine cabinet.
I won't even go into the way shows like "Monk" have made OCD some kind of a joke, an oh-so-you-need-to-wash-your-hands-all-the-time thing. Not understanding that you're washing your hands because you're going to die horribly if you don't, you know that's crazy but there's no other way to make the terror fucking stop. That's the response I've gotten when I've tried to be open about it, you know, detach some of that stigma.
Those "ha ha, I guess I'm just a little OCD" comments make me want to hit something. Perhaps I should start saying, "Ha ha, perhaps i guess I'm just a bit autistic" or "I guess I'm just a little Downs' Syndrome." Wonder how well that'd go down.
It's stupid - it's really stupid - but I'm horribly tempted to go to the HR department. Not to get anyone into trouble, but to ask if maybe they don't want to throw a little of their time into educating people on other things that aren't funny? I just know it wouldn't end well. But I'm so incredibly tired of this. It's not fucking funny.
I am mentally ill.
This is not a joke, or a game, or an exaggeration, or a plea for attention. I have chemical imbalances in the way my body is designed that cause me problems.
It has been with me my entire life, to a greater or lesser degree, and exacerbated by environmental conditions. It runs on both sides of my family, and is quite possibly shared by every member of my immediate family.
I have been in therapy and out of therapy and in therapy long enough to have pretty much come to terms with where I am and what I am and who I am. But that will not make this illness go away. What matters now is maintenance - being able to live with it and manage it.
I went without medicine, and with different medicines, and finally two years ago onto the RIGHT combination of medicines for someone who has severe OCD and Bipolar II.
Now. Some of you have known me many, many years, and may know these things. Many people who meet me do not. My OCD is actually a very unusual type - most of my "compulsions" are not physically visible. They are "checks" or internal as opposed to external rituals.
There is a reason I no longer pray. When you spend every night for a year having to pray specifically by name for each and every individual you know to be ok, because if you don't and something happens it will be your fault or something will happen because you don't....well, it's not a place I want to revisit.
I still have issues with medication. There is still this odd stigma in society about mental illness. It's not real. It's a weakness. it's a ploy for attention. It's overdiagnosed, overmedicated, unreal, or dangerous.
I know now that it is chemical because once I got onto the right combo of meds, I realized for the first time how many behaviors I had were not only not usual, but actively a result of the imbalances. Still, there's part of me that stil hears the word "weak" and that annoying little...if only you were stronger, you wouldn't need the medicine.
I've been without the medicine. I can certainly survive without it. Know what I can't do?
Can't go more than an hour without a full blown panic attack. Or without anxiety overtaking my every thought. Can't spend my time thinking what I wish because I'm having to focus constantly on battling back the anxiety or worries or obtrusive thoughts.
So the medicine...is necessary. It's certainly not a magic pill. I still have gone through cognitive behavioral therapy to focus on short circuiting anxiety attacks. I do sometimes still have to ride out and counter an issue. I still have things I'm slowly bringing myself to be able to do. I also am aware of the price I live with. No one knows yet what being on these drugs as long as I have/will be is. There are weight and other side effects that can come with these medicines. I have utterly no desire for children, but if I did, I would have to go off the meds as both can cause birth defects. And that would just be peachy, can you imagine?
I won't pass this to my kids. If I want kids, there's plenty out there who need adopting. And frankly, I'm no fit mother - I need to focus far too much on keeping myself together and sane without adding anything more complex than a cat for long periods of time to the mix.
So I am aware of all this, and where I stand, and what I can and cannot do, and will and will not do.
But people. Oh, people. You can't make a black joke, or a gay joke, or a sexist joke, or an autism joke, but by God, you can make as many mental illness fucking jokes you want, and no one sees a goddamn thing wrong with it. Today's training segued into a discussion of the mind and the mental need for symmetry. Very interesting. A neat conversation about the ingrained habits we have, how the trainer doesn't feel right if he doesn't eat his french fries first or clean the plate.
A coworker? "Ha ha! Having a panic attack over one french fry on a plate, that's classic!"
Oh, and let's not forget the laughing comment of how the length of the relationship lasting until you find out how many prescription bottles are in her medicine cabinet.
I won't even go into the way shows like "Monk" have made OCD some kind of a joke, an oh-so-you-need-to-wash-your-hands-all-the-time thing. Not understanding that you're washing your hands because you're going to die horribly if you don't, you know that's crazy but there's no other way to make the terror fucking stop. That's the response I've gotten when I've tried to be open about it, you know, detach some of that stigma.
Those "ha ha, I guess I'm just a little OCD" comments make me want to hit something. Perhaps I should start saying, "Ha ha, perhaps i guess I'm just a bit autistic" or "I guess I'm just a little Downs' Syndrome." Wonder how well that'd go down.
It's stupid - it's really stupid - but I'm horribly tempted to go to the HR department. Not to get anyone into trouble, but to ask if maybe they don't want to throw a little of their time into educating people on other things that aren't funny? I just know it wouldn't end well. But I'm so incredibly tired of this. It's not fucking funny.