Warning: this is a bit rant-y
Because you know what? These days, everyone claims mental illness. It feels like it is glamorized and everyone thinks they understand it and know what it's like. I don't belittle or minimize the struggle that other people have where they hurt and struggle through the day most days. That's real and painful and I don't wish it on anyone.
...But I also don't appreciate being minimized by people who truly have no idea what it's like to not see any reason to getting out of bed in the morning, and even when they do, have the hardest time trying to.
People who have no idea what it's like to end every day on end for months and months in convulsing sobs and have no idea why.
People who don't understand how if feels to go through every day and have no idea how they're going to make it through this life because every day just feels like a push to end it all, yet they know they can't see that as an option even though it feels like the only acceptable one.
People who aren't even stable enough to be able to hold a job and it takes everything in them to keep from telling off all their teachers for everything (when that's so against my nature!)
People who don't get it that it's hard enough to keep relationships up with friends and can't see themselves ever being able to have a family of their own--not because of nobody wanting them, but literally feeling like they will always be too unstable take care of anyone--including themselves.
I know what it's like to have depressive periods. I went through those all my life. And I know that they are so incredibly painful and they still feel like you want to die. But I never called them a mental illness, because mental illness to me always meant something serious. And everything I've felt this past year has been something of a much different color than just being sad all the time and wanting to die. I have never, ever sought help before now because I am so so prideful--but this takes all my energy every day. Every day feels like an extreme episode of PMS-- the smallest things send me reeling and the slightest movement can trigger a full-blown attack. And the scariest thing is, I can't help but think:
The other thing I hate is when people try to tell me how many other people struggle with the same things I do. There is someone who doesn't experience any of it, but wants to tell me that there are so many other people who get it. How is comparing my pain to the pain of everyone else going to make me feel better? I guess they are trying to convey the message that I am not alone, and that I shouldn't feel bad for experiencing it because it's pretty common, but it just feels like my pain is being minimized and like what I'm going through doesn't matter because, well, everyone goes through it. Bull.
Then there are those people who try to tell you how to deal with it. You know, those one's who are like: "here are some talks by some general authorities about how to be happy!" "just pray!" "have you tried eating healthy and exercising?" "just try to see the good things in every day!"
There are so many things that people say when you tell them. And the truth is, there will be like 2 who understand and are there for you without trying to fix you. There are 3 people I've told who I haven't regretted telling, not including the health professionals. And it's rough, because people wont understand why I am the way I am unless I tell them, but then they still wont understand if I do tell them. And there are people that I wish knew. But then after they know, it's not that I wanted them to know, it's that I wanted them to understand. But that's hardly ever the case. And it always feels like a
lose-lose situation.
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