Stigma

This entry is going to strictly deal with the way that some people treat those with a mental illness. While I understand that many individuals are free from stigma and handle a loved ones mental ill as they would a physical ailment there are still those who we encounter, friends, family, coworkers who view mental illness with shame, disgust, fear and ignorance.

I touched on some this in my post Misconceptions Related to Mental Illness. I wanted to expand a little on how my parents treat my mental illness and how they hold firm to stigma and have tried to cultivate a sense of shame. Like I have said in other posts my parents currently are not aware of the fact that I have Schizoaffective Disorder, I have chosen not to tell them because of the possible negative consequences that might come from them knowing.

Stigma has so many negative consequences that it can not be ignored. It causes people to not seek treatment and to suffer in silence. It can fill a person with a sense of shame. It can cause those around them to treat the with distrust or vastly different. This post is not aimed at those who have a mental illness. It more for those who still hold onto stigma or treat a mental illness as less than a physical one.

Since my teen years my mental illness was treated less as an illness and more as character flaw. I dealt with disappointment, disgust and shame from close family. My parents are from the age where mental illness was considered an end all diagnosis. The person suffering must surly have done something to bring it upon themselves and should be locked away. The very idea that a person with a mental illness could function in society was a myth to them.

My mother, a now retired nurse seemed to hold onto the notion that mental illness is something that isn't discussed. This has meant that a lot of my life I have been secretive toward them concerning the areas of my diagnosis and mental health treatment. Since I functioned fairly well even off medicine it was assumed that I either was playing games or was willfully disruptive when symptoms would flair up.

During hospitalizations I could see the disgust in my parents eyes when they visited. I knew my mother was thinking about what others would think of the family if they knew her daughter was on the psych unit. She is the type of person who places great importance on how others perceive her and anything that might deviate into a negative view is seen as inherently bad. What this meant for me was that I lacked a loving and compassionate advocate. It was far easier for them to place blame on my friends or focus on trivial matters such as a clean room and eating out with the family.

This type of behavior carried over into my outpatient treatment. Whole family sessions focusing on getting me, a then teenager to go out to eat with family, to keep my room spotless, keep my appearance less punk and more mainstream. This caused critical symptoms to be ignored. My parents argued that my lack of participation in family outing to restaurants was because I was being a pain in the ass. I was never given a chance to voice the real reasons, that I was sure the people in the restaurants were thinking bad things about me.

I heard continuously that Dr.'s would say that either I was lost cause and that it was a waste of money to have me in treatment or that all needed was swift kick in the ass. I can't be sure if any of that was every actually said, I hold onto some hope that the Dr.'s that were treating me then conducted themselves in a more professional way.

I also think back on the various times that the psychosis induced ramblings that I had were thrown in my face as a way to ridicule me. I would laugh it off, but even back then I wondered if my illness was physical would its symptoms be used for laughter. This kind of behavior led to me hiding symptoms and refusing to discuss my true thoughts during sessions. This had the negative consequence of a wrongful diagnosis being handed down, Bipolar 1 Disorder. I kept quiet about the bizarre thoughts, shadowy figures that seemed to reach out to me and other symptoms of psychosis that were present outside of actual mood episodes.

The wrong diagnosis also meant that I received the wrong treatment and only mood stabilizers were used. They lessened the mood swings but did little to quell the odd behavior and thoughts that I had. My parents conclusions were that I must not be taking my medicine as prescribed. This still an area of contention between us. Of course I have also chosen to not inform them of the fact that I actually have Schizoaffective disorder.

I was faced with anger, both for discussing my illness or when symptoms sprung up and influenced my behavior of speech. I often think would they be angry if my symptoms were part of a physical illness. Am I suppose to schedule my illness around events and ignore serious flair up for the sake of family saving face? It often seems that way.

Back to hospitalizations, while an teenager my parents would faithfully visit me everyday but once I turned 18 and was no longer considered a minor these visitations stopped. I would often find myself wondering that if I had been hospitalized for a physical illness would they visit me then. Would there be more compassion and understanding?

There is a part of my mind that tries to explain away their behavior to distorted perception on my part. Only it has been reality checked with others who are close to me. These people agree that yes there is a disparity in how me and my illness is treated. They point out the rallying that they do around others who are ill with a physical illness. So I know this is not borne of psychosis.

I often wonder what would have happened all those years ago if I had been given the actual support that I needed to open up. Would I have achieved greater success in life if I had been on the right medicines? Would there be a better understanding of why simple things such as getting a drivers license is out of my reach due to intrusive thoughts that distract and would make me an unsafe driver. Would I hear the thing that many take for granted, “How are you doing today?” That simple phrase has never been asked by my parents in relation to my illness.

There is no denying that me having a mental illness is looked down upon. Not going to lie, it hurts. It hurts to see them showing compassion and support to others while I was denied it. It hurts to know that I am treated differently due to my illness. It hurts to know that I can't even turn to those who are suppose to love us when things get tough. It hurts to hear things like, “obviously you must have done something to bring this on yourself.” It hurts that because of my illness they think that everything I say is a lie. It hurts so much but I battle on, everyday struggling to keep my illness in check and find my place in life.

Stigma does so much damage, if someone close to you has a mental illness I implore you to educate yourself on this illness. The person they were before the diagnosis hasn't changed with a label. You should love, support and seek understanding just as much as you would if the person had a physical ailment.