I am the kind of person that veers away from confrontation. As a person with mental illness, I know that confrontation can open up a can of worms. You could burst into tears with frustration (usually happens to me), you could speak in profanities desperately trying to express how you feel or simply not respond at all. And you never quite know which one you are going to get. People who have been reading my blog will know that I have been particularly festive – and enjoying the mood brought about by trial Christmas lunches, long naps, TV marathons with the whole family crowded around eating snacks… And yes, that’s how I’ve been feeling – festive. That’s until the proverbial emotional carpet was pulled out from underneath my feet.
Last week, while at work, I went to work in a scarf, covering my growing, unruly mop of curls. When I think I whip the scarf off and scratch my head, pull my hair (gently) and end up looking like the nutty professor. Think Albert Einstein kind of do. This has nothing to do with the fact that I have mental illness. My eldest son says he does it too. However, while at work where the fact that I have CHRONIC Bipolar Mood Disorder has been revealed – perhaps enacting the ‘madness’ of mental illness is not a good idea. Well, I didn’t think I was acting particularly strangely – that’s until my husband messaged me and said that our HR Manager had messaged him and suggested that I looked “stressed” and perhaps he should consider fetching me. Fetching me. According to the context of the message, escort me safely home. Scream.
When I was young – a little girl even – there were many, many times that I wanted someone to speak on my behalf. There were too many times that I wanted an “adult” to intervene, and call an authority to intervene in some of the terrible things that ensued. Some of these situations I think I brought on myself – and other times there were predators who took advantage of my soft, innocent under-flesh. I wasn’t diagnosed then. I didn’t have the support of medication. A tablet to assist with the overwhelming waves of anxiety and depression that have dominated my emotional life for a very very long time.
Almost 30 years later, and many traumatic events that I had to solider through on my own, I have someone who on the basis that I am mentally ill, suggested that I need a what – a less crazy someone to take care of me? Someone to take me away from the office, lest I fall apart on account of being too stressed. I’ve encountered much crazy in my lifetime – much painful crazy – but it wasn’t me. What did I say back to this person? That by questioning my “capacity” you are not only insulting my intelligence, you are also being discriminatory and that I just won’t have it? I did contemplate fetching a knife and threaten to stab her as a crazy person would do. Because I wanted to retaliate. I wanted to give back to that person the skin ripped off your face emotion I felt.
Because no-one knows what people with mental illness go through everyday. The pain of getting up when you haven’t slept, surfing the emotional waves that become higher and more frequent every day, getting used to medication cocktails that can sometimes put you to sleep for weeks. For adjusting to understanding that you are different. For accepting that you are not like others. And that’s ok. But it can be lonely – and laden with too many stigma’s you attribute to yourself. And for this reason, every time a person meters out discrimination – they are essentially attacking (again for me) a very innocent under-flesh that well, just doesn’t need to be poked.
Today instead of retaliating to the ignorant fool that hurt me – I am dusting myself off and re-festiving myself. I will don my flashing light santa hat, sing christmas carols and be merry with my children. And I remind myself that I am both with and without my mental illness – an amazing person, and also, an amazing survivor. I will clean off the dirt of discrimination that was imposed. But that’s not all I am going to do. I am making a call to each and every person with mental illness to join hands and stand together. To say enough. To say stop. To put an end to discrimination. I plan to help an organisation in South Africa to strengthen its mental health advocacy efforts – and would appreciate and accept help from anyone and everyone to stop and put an end to discrimination. Be part of those who support us as opposed to those who don’t. I am 4M’s Bipolar Mom.
4 M's Bipolar Mom 