Very often when you ask someone how she is doing she'll say "fine". It's not great, terrific, horrible or bad. The answer is "fine". Chances are if you really take the time to listen to my voice or look in my eyes, you'll see that I am not fine. If anyone has been around a mentally ill person, you know we have our own language. Fine in the lingo of our group FINE stands for Fucked-up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional. So, when a mentally ill person, says that everything if fine, dig a little deeper.
With me, I'm always fine just as anxiety is getting to the point of a panic attack. Then, suddenly I can't breathe, am inconsolable, and incoherent.
I am FINE when I go to sleep at 5 PM and don't eat. I am FINE when I don't shower for weeks on end or wear the same clothes all the time. I am FINE when I lock the door to the bathroom and turn the water on full blast so you can't hear me sobbing. I am FINE when there are blisters on my arms shaped like the small circle of a cigarette.
Sometimes, I am more than FINE. There are times when I am so beaten down, that I would welcome any relief, even death. At those times, I just want to go to sleep and never wake up. But, I do wake up, and then it's time to face another day of being FINE.
Why can't I just tell someone? Because, most people are ignorant asses. They say stupid things like "cheer up", "it can't be that bad" or "snap out of it". If I could snap out of it, don't you think I would.
Do you think I choose to have this illness? If I could choose any illness it would be one that gets some respect! The mentally ill are constantly be told that they are attention seekers, lazy, worthless, and just trying to get out of working. That's right, I choose to live in poverty simply because I don't want to work.
The fact is, I do want to have a good job, with good benefits so I can take care of myself. But, I can't do that if I have a panic attack at the thought of leaving the house. The depression weighs a ton, and makes it hard to move. All I do is sleep, but I get no rest. What am I supposed to do if I am at work and have a hallucination or panic attack. I might be able to keep my job, but I will be talked about, ridiculed, and discriminated against.
There is still a terrible stigma against mental illness in this country. When I tell people I have bipolar disorder, I can see them tense up and the look of fear in their eyes. People in America see mental illness as a psychopath killing people. When in fact, I am more likely to hurt myself than someone else. What about that German pilot who crashed a plane load of people into a mountain? He was an aberration. Most of us don't think that way. In every case, whether it be race, religion, political affiliation, or gender, there is always someone to give the group a bad name.
One in four people are touched by mental illness. Which one are you? Is it you? The person you're standing next to or a relative? Everybody knows someone with a mental illness. The question is this. Is the illness being treated?
Getting treatment, if you can afford it is difficult. Some doctors are booked for months in advanced. The shortest time I've ever had to wait was six weeks. However, you do something drastic like attempt suicide, you get in right away. It shouldn't be that way. How can someone look me square in the face and tell me the next available appointment is six weeks when my life is hanging on the line. It's simply too much to bear. Don't you know that is is usually at the end of the rope when someone finally calls to get help.
The guilt and shame of mental illness is very hard to carry. I felt like a burden to my family, embarrassed to my friends. I was treated with compassion at some jobs, but they never trusted me with anything major for fear it would stress me out. That just made the anxiety and depression worse. Top that off with the medical bills and you've got a volcano ready to erupt. And it did erupt. I haven't worked since 2010. I want to but I simply can't. I haven't got the attention span, the concentration and the organization skills to deal with working. I can do something for two hours, tops. I don't know about your boss, but I don't think anyone is looking for a person who needs a fifteen to twenty minute break every two hours.
While it's true I am back in college, I am only taking two courses a semester and most of them are on line, so I can get work done at pretty much my own pace. But you should see me writing papers and taking tests. I am freaking out here!! Gone are the days of large classes. I'd rather not be in a classroom if I can help it. At this point, I'm probably older that the professor, and the kids get on my nerves.
Even if you can get to see a doctor, the drugs prescribed are outrageously expensive. During one hospital stay, I was on a drug that did wonders for me. I mean, I felt terrific. But when I tried to fill it, I was told the co-pay was $400!!!! That was for a 30 day supply. I simply couldn't afford it, and went back to my regular psychiatrist to see what other options I have. Fortunately, what I am on now is not that expensive. Usually, the newer the drug, the more it cost. And the older the drug, the more side-effects. One of the drugs that I am taking now has warnings all over it for liver damage. So, I made an appointment with my family doctor to get a liver screening done, so we have a baseline.
If I don't die from smoking, which I am still trying to quit, the drugs treating the bipolar will kill me. The liver and kidneys can only take so much. After all I've put mine through, plus I have type 2 diabetes, I have a feeling that something is going to shut down on me.
So, in a nutshell if you see me, and I say I'm fine. Don't believe it. I'm FINE, not okay. If I say I'm doing OK, then everything is going pretty well. Pay attention to the symptoms, not the words. Don't patronize or try and make light of the situation. And for goodness sake, don't say "snap out of it". That's just ignorant bull shit. On that note, I'll say goodnight. Peace. Love. Joy.
Bev
No comments:
Post a Comment