February 2013: Mental Health and Life Paths

Posted on 2013/02/23 by Angel Fractured

For this month’s Let’s Talk About topic, I think it would be interesting to discuss how mental health has influenced the roads we’ve traveled in life.

As an example, I’ll narrate a brief version of my life journey, a journey I’ve discussed in much more detail on my personal blog.

For most of my life, I ignored my mental health issues and got along fine, doing well up through college. Then I went to graduate school, where I planned to get a Ph.D in English. Since books and literature have always been dear to me, I believed there was nothing else that I’d ever want to do. Lo and behold, my mental health issues finally reached a crescendo, exploding to the forefront of my mind. I held it together sufficiently enough to get my Master’s, but then I knew I had to take a break from academia.

I’m not the same person I was before that breakdown, and my previous goals are not ones that would match who I am now. So, for the past two years, I’ve been struggling to find the right goals, to see what I can handle now. I’ve returned to creative writing, a pursuit I’d given up while in college. I’m working on the first edit of a novel; in it, I incorporate material drawn from my own experiences.

Thus, I’d say that my mental health issues have changed my life’s direction. Since my mental health considerations have greatly altered my life, I think it would be illuminating for us to discuss how we’ve adapted our life goals in order to take care of our mental health. After all, at some point, every person has to make decisions that relate to his or her mental health.

Where has life taken you, then? Have you had to make a major decision in order to safeguard your mental well-being? If so, how did you make that decision, and what considerations did you keep in mind as you made that decision? How has mental health and mental illness impacted your life path? How have they factored in to forming your life ambitions and pursuing your goals?

As usual with our ‘Let’s Talk About’, comments on this post will be closed. To join in the discussion, please go to our page February 2013: Mental Health and Life Paths.

© Angel Fractured and A Canvas Of The Minds 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Angel Fractured and A Canvas Of The Minds with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. This work is protected under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

A Quandary: Mental Illness, Public Safety

Posted on 2013/02/10 by Angel Fractured

Due to quite a few recent tragedies, debates about mental illness have been prominent in the public eye. Perhaps they aren’t as visible as, say, gun control laws or Lance Armstrong’s shadiness, but they have quite a presence.

The debate is couched in terms that express “concern” for people who are mentally ill, and no doubt many commentators do feel concerned about people with mental illness. But there are implicitly darker tones, and these tones worry me.

They worry me because they have the potential to increase the stigma against mental illness in the name of helping those with a mental illness.

As far as I understand it, the argument is that we should help those with a mental illness before it becomes severe enough to make them act violently.

That is a noble idea. People should get the help they need. Maybe people’s lives can be saved by pursuing this policy.

But what about those of us who struggle with a mental illness yet do not have violent tendencies? Or those of us who do have violent tendencies yet can refrain from acting upon them?

There’s an excellent recent article in The New York Times that explores problems with the recent mental health debate, but I’m going to discuss other ideas. I’m going to take a more personal tack, speaking as someone who is diagnosed with a mental illness. I’m going to talk about why I feel as if some of the debates will increase the stigma, a stigma that already makes me feel as if I have to hide my mental health issues.

There’s already a misconception that most people with a mental illness are violent. This comes out in a lot of crime dramas. The most concrete example I can think of is an episode of Criminal Minds I once watched. At the end of the episode, it was revealed that the murderer had committed their crimes because they had borderline personality disorder. At the time, I’d suspected I could have borderline personality disorder. I can safely assure you that I’d never do something similarly violent. While these days it seems I might not have borderline personality disorder, nevertheless I know people with that diagnosis, and I’m sure they wouldn’t commit those types of crimes, either. This is one reason why a person may not want to disclose a diagnosis of mental illness–they’re afraid that people will automatically dismiss them as violent because of what they see on TV shows.

If society adopts a heavily mainstream attitude that mental illness automatically equates to violence, how many people are going to want to seek a diagnosis? How many people would feel that they can freely admit to the diagnosis? I’d wager very few.

If people are reluctant to see a professional because of the connotations of violence, how is that going to help people who do endure a mental illness? For that matter, how is that going to curtail acts committed by those who are violent and mentally ill?

I fear that the focus on violence and mental illness could return us to the dark ages of mental health treatment. Of locking away anyone who exhibits any sign of mental illness in order to protect society from “those people.” Of course, this wouldn’t be the sort of language used. The justification would be that the arrangement gives those with a mental illness the help they really need. This wouldn’t happen right away; it would be so gradual that the choice would seem natural to the general public. But, to me, that seems to be the path indicated by the association between violence and mental illness.

But the fact of the matter remains that most people with a mental illness aren’t violent. Just as most people in the general public aren’t violent. There are people out there who are both violent and mentally ill, and there are people out there who are both violent and not mentally ill.

Most people with a mental illness can and do function in society. They contribute to society, too. Yes, perhaps they need some accommodations, but so do many other people as well. Only by lessening the stigma (I’m not optimistic enough to believe that removal is likely) will people be willing to seek out the help they need and deserve.

Then again, I understand that there are a few individuals whose mental illness may goad them into violence. These people do need help to deal with those impulses. That help could prevent disasters, perhaps.

But how are we to tell who those people are? There’s no surefire way.

Therefore, I feel that targeting mental health is the wrong way to tackle the issue. I suspect a bigger culprit may be our society’s promotion of fame at any cost.

I don’t have any answers, and I don’t believe the potential answers are easy to come by. All I have are thoughts I hope will showcase the complexity of the issue and serve as a warning against absolutism.

On This Day

Posted on 2012/10/15 by Angel Fractured

Birthdays are often triggering affairs for me, and, from what I’ve read on others’ blogs, I’m not alone.

My life is littered with many unfortunate birthdays. When I was a child, I had the obligatory sorts of parties. There were play places. A skating rink, even though I could barely skate (and I can’t skate now), so I hugged the wall.

These were awkward affairs. None of the people there were really my friends–just classmates. They brought gifts I’m sure their parents picked out to go along with the routine. We gathered around when it was time for cake, party favors, and presents. But I was mostly left alone.

During high school, I spent my birthdays thinking about what perfect days they were for attempting suicide.

When I turned 16, I got nothing for my birthday. (To be fair, I was supposed to get a joint birthday-Christmas present.) No one even bought me a cake. I was upset by that, mostly for sentimental reasons. My family acted like I’d wanted the cake just so I could eat it; they ridiculed how devastated I felt.

The day I turned 17, I was again alone. It was a Friday, and I volunteered somewhere after school. Again, the other people in the club didn’t really talk to me. I remember that, when I was done, my mom and her husband took me out to get pizza. That was the most celebratory activity that day. While we were on the way there, my dad called and yelled at me because I hadn’t gone home. I don’t remember why he wanted me to go home.

My 21st birthday was lackluster. I was in my senior year in college, and I had only two friends, one of whom didn’t drink. The other one did, though, so we went and bought some liquor and drank while we played board games. Quite the exciting 21st birthday experience. (It pains me to think of this friend now, because at the end of my senior year, we had a big fight that effectively ended our friendship. I’d begun sliding downhill fast that year, and I’d confided so much in her. But still, there was no forgiveness. Is it a wonder I don’t trust people?)

My 23rd birthday was the worst one in recent memory. My 22nd birthday was fabulous, and the loneliness, the despair of this one contrasted sharply with what life had been like only a year ago. It was a Saturday, and all I did was sit at home. Only about five people told me happy birthday on Facebook. Yes, I did count, and maybe that was a silly matter to put stock in. But it was as if I’d been completely forgotten. I was deeply caught in the throes of the big break, and only a heartfelt letter from my brother kept me from attempting the suicide I’d been planning.

On my 25th birthday, more people sent me birthday wishes on Facebook, which I found surprising since I didn’t live near any of my Facebook friends anymore. But no one at work remembered it was my birthday. They always remember people’s birthdays. Again, I felt like no one there must’ve liked me. I gave a huge hint at the end of the day shortly before I left, an action that made me feel pathetic.

**********

But there have also been a smattering of good birthdays.

The 22nd birthday I mentioned, for one. It happened during my first year in grad school. Someone threw me a surprise birthday party, and I was very surprised. Perhaps it was because everyone loves a good party, but it was still nice. Everyone seemed to enjoy my company. I finally felt like I had friends, that I belonged somewhere. Like I had a home. I got properly drunk for one of the few times in my life. But it wasn’t like a frat boy type of drinking atmosphere. It was all very chill, relaxed, and I loved that.

My 24th birthday was on 10/10/10. I admit it–I’d been looking forward to that birthday for at least 2 years, mostly because of the exciting date. But I’d moved back in with my family, and I didn’t have any friends around. Most of the few acquaintances I had in high school had long moved away from my hometown. But my dad, his wife, my brother, and I went out to a nice dinner, and I was content with that.

Then there was my last birthday, 5 days ago. When I became closer to 30 than to 20. People at work actually remembered my birthday this time! There was a cookie cake, and I was given a large portion to take home. I don’t have any friends where I live, so I didn’t expect much in the way of Facebook activity, but I received a few wishes there. People in the blogosphere who knew about my birthday also sent me wishes. My mom sent me a touching note that surprised me. My dad wrote a nice message in my birthday card.

So, despite the fact that it was a Wednesday, it was a good day.

**********

Birthdays can be triggering for many different reasons. They trigger me because they provoke feelings related to my deepest insecurities. I’m always afraid that I’m not well-liked, that I will be rejected and forgotten. So even though I shy away from attention, I want my birthday to be acknowledged.

This year, I wasn’t doing too well in the days that led up to my birthday. I don’t think it had anything to do with the approaching date, but who knows?

Strangely enough, my birthday brought me out of my spell. I’d been feeling disconnected, and having the right people recognize my birthday showed me that I might’ve overestimated the disconnect.

I suspect that’s why birthdays can be triggering for many of us. When they go right, we feel valued. But when they go wrong, we feel wretched; we feel worthless.

© Angel Fractured and A Canvas Of The Minds 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Angel Fractured and A Canvas Of The Minds with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. This work is protected under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

En Garde!

Posted on 2012/08/13 by Angel Fractured

Several things have inspired the ideas behind this post. A realization I had when I read Ruby’s post “Behind the Curtain” sparked an idea. DeeDee’s post about compartmentalization has jumpstarted my thinking gears. Finally, there are just my own thoughts of late . . . I think I can synthesize all of these issues, and that’s what I’m going to try to do with this post.

After I read Ruby’s post and her reply to my comment, it occurred to me that I let my mental health issues define me simply by focusing on hiding them. I’m always afraid someone’s going to discover something out of place, and my whole tenuously constructed edifice will come crashing down. By being constantly on the alert, by constantly concealing my mental health issues, I am basing my identity on those issues.

I contradict myself, and it blows my mind.

I am a firm believer in the idea that mental health issues should never be the defining factor of people’s personalities. Sure, it’s a part of my personality, but it is merely a small piece of a larger whole.

My mind’s en garde stance means that my mental health issues are at the source of everything I do.

In order to lessen the degree to which my mental health issues form my identity, I need to find a way to reframe how I operate. I’m not saying I should go out and wave a flag saying, “I am someone with mental illness!”. God, no. Rather, I should refocus my impulses. Not every action has to involve mental acrobatics to conceal what lies beneath. Because that’s not even nearly all that lies beneath, first of all. But also, by living in this fashion, I am allowing the mental illness to control me while simultaneously attempting the very opposite.

Here’s an example of how I could behave differently: Often when people talk about mental illnesses and stereotype them, I say nothing because I’m afraid my mental health issues will be discovered. The other party might think, Why does she care so much? If and when they deduce the truth, they might dismiss my perspective as null and void because I am tainted.

Let’s tweak this scenario. If the discussion were about race, I wouldn’t have a problem with trying to combat stereotypes. Heck, I have no problem arguing against female gender roles, and I’m a woman.

Arguing against a misconception about mental illness doesn’t mean people will automatically think I deal with that issue. Even if it does, so what? Shouldn’t I position myself as someone who disproves the stereotype rather than someone who will be categorized as belonging with it?

That brings me to what I’ve been thinking about for the past few days, my insecurity. I can’t snap my fingers and stop being insecure. (Actually, I can’t even literally snap my fingers. It’s true.) Insecurity is a significant personality trait, even if a chunk of it derives from mental health issues. As I mentioned in my last post on my blog, I’ve felt stuck for the past couple of years. I don’t have a direction, nor am I interested in exploring a direction. This leaves me stunted.

Part of me is afraid that I can’t handle more than what I have now. Why can’t things just stay like this? What if this is the best I can do?

What if this is the best I can do?

This question has revolved in my mind for the past few weeks. It haunts me. I don’t know the answer to it, and I don’t know how to find the answer to it.

What if my mental health issues hold me back? If so, then how can they not be the foundation of my identity?

Am I permanently shattered, always cracking at the seams, or did I break in one monumental sundering? Can I put the pieces back together? If I put the pieces back together, will they fall apart again? Are the pieces lying around waiting for me to reassemble them, or are their edges constantly chipping off?

Can the pieces be adequately combined into a new product, or do they function only when they’re in their former arrangement?

Just because I shattered doesn’t mean I will shatter again.

But doesn’t it?

This idea relates back to the theme of identity. By dwelling on my breaking, am I letting it define me? Would there be less danger of it reoccurring if I changed my focus?

At any rate, my identity is rigidly compartmentalized. I feel like I can’t have any of the lines intersect without the entire flimsy edifice toppling over.

Friend life segregated. Check. Family life segregated. Check. Work life segregated. Check.

Blog life segregated. Check.

I fear that I won’t have the freedom to say exactly what I want to if my blog life collides with any of the real-life sections. Would it change how people in real life view me? Would they try to bring up my posts in everyday conversation? I couldn’t handle that. I think what I am most afraid of is people wanting to talk about my blog writing with me in real life. It’s much easier for me to have a conversation in writing than in real life. Yes, I’m pulling out my crutch here, the social anxiety. It influences how I operate when around others; it can’t be helped.

Being anonymous affords me more freedom. But being anonymous also constrains me.

When I began my blog, I mentioned that I wanted to reveal my real-world identity one day. I think I still do, but that day is far off in the future. I can’t handle coming out right now.

I’m also not sure if I can refocus my mindset. Not with where I am now and with what I worry about.

Hopefully the right time will come. Until then, I will remain en garde.

Is There Anything Wrong with Being a Loner? (Part II)

Posted on 2012/08/04 by Angel Fractured

Reblogged from The Mirth of Despair:

By far, the search results that most land on my blog involve some iteration of whether it's okay to be a loner. No doubt they all lead to this post.

I find it quite surprising that many searches about the permissiveness of being a loner lead to here. In fact, my blog is now one of the top search results for that idea.