When I was a child, I would stop breathing in the night. I lay awake and think sometimes, of how my mother would watch over me. Of how so many times I woke up with my chest feeling like it was going to burst from dreams that switched suddenly to dreams of drowning. This was not all the time, but it wasn't uncommon.
During the daytime, when faced with a challenge I found myself holding my breath until I was turning blue. This never had any relevance to me, I was just assumed I was a weird kid and until someone told me to take deep breaths to get through something like a booster shot or a public speaking project; holding my breath calmed me down. I still, find myself feeling my heart race, so I simply don't breath to slow it down.
Sleep, doesn't come easy to me. It hasn't since I was a pre-teen. I lay there, my head on the pillow, staring at the ceiling while all the what if's fly through my mind. I often look at the clock and see, two or three hours have passed. It's unpleasant. Even more so were the night terrors I used to experience. So many things, that were the product of stress. Stress, I ask? Stress. That's what they always say. But my life is pretty good I conclude, what is this stress?
If I think about it, I can name things that upset and stress me. But you'd scoff and say, that's not a reason. For so long I heard that I was being a worry wort, I was being illogical, I needed to grow up and let go, it's just teen angst. So many things that, sure, made it possible for me to feel either like I was normal and everyone had this, and to move on and ignore it. Or, things that made me feel foolish and weak. Both things attribute to why I didn't get help before now.
I have spent the last four months, in therapy and at the doctors. I have been told my illness could be any number of things. I have told so many of my secrets and fears to people in white coats. I have been all over the place trying to find someone who knew maybe what was wrong with me. Funny thing is, when I asked, they all said nothing was wrong with me. Because, mental illness is a illness. It is treatable, sometimes curable. Yet, it is so hard to take those first steps towards recovery. Or at least, control of a situation.
It is not a weakness, or anything to feel ashamed of.
So, if this is what we preach (you see it on public service announcements, radio ads, billboards, pamphlets . . . all over the place), then why is it acceptable for anyone to use the words "depressed", "bi polar", "crazy" or any of the many others that they do, to insult someone? It really bothers me too, when someone does.
I hear it in the halls, on the streets, coming from my own friends mouths, and even here on Whyville. Lines like, "take your pills", "go cut yourself", and the like, tossed about like it's a big old joke. Things like this are the reason people don't get help. The reason people progress into such states of detachment that sometimes, there is no help.
Stigma is the use of negative labels to identify a person living with mental illness. It is about disrespect and keeps mental illness in the closet. Stigma is a barrier and discourages individuals and their families from getting the help they need. It closes minds and fuels discrimination. Many say that living with the stigma is worse than living with the illness itself.
Stigma doesn't just apply to mental health. it applies to sexuality and diseases like HIV/AIDS. It should be just as politically incorrect to call someone bipolar as it is so call someone retarded, gay, etc. because to me, it IS just as bad as racism. Stop treating people like they do not have a real problem or that it's something to be ashamed of. The start to ending stigma is to stop.
-BP
