My Mental Illness Was Not My Self
It Came Upon Me Like a Thunderstorm
Imagine everybody knowing you are mentally ill. I went through two depressive episodes. My psychiatrist diagnosed obsessive-compulsive anxiety. It showed.
The depressive symptoms included social withdrawal, trouble concentrating and feelings of worthlessness. The compulsive symptoms will sound more like psychosis to many readers.
I will set aside my academic voice for most of this article. An academic mindset helped me study for the GRE in Psychology but has limited value in conveying my feelings. Allow me instead to offer a personal account.
The radio was off. Nobody sat in the car with me. A voice said, “You are going to die next April.”
I believed it. Fall was drawing toward winter. My car was carrying me home from an unsuccessful sales mission on my fourth job in three years. Failure hung in the air.
Death made sense. I deemed it appropriate. I felt grateful to be warned so far ahead of time. I could sort my priorities and prepare for the end.
A half mile or so down the interstate, a sickening realization hit me. The voice had spoken to me. Until then, the voice had tormented me as a nuisance, spouting random nonsense to nobody. But it had not addressed me.
The voice came through my vocal chords but not from my thoughts. It came out of my mouth but not my conscious will. I grew accustomed to the damned thing.
I spent hours sneaking around the shadows of a Tourette Syndrome Internet discussion board. Yes, yes, this is what I am going through… the ability to suppress nonsense words in public and the fear of letting my guard down. The ability to notice words just before they slip out, like a leg jerking at the edge of sleep. These people are just like me.
When April arrived, the voice commanded me as if it were God. “Look after my Children!” It came out deep like Morgan Freeman. I had been feeling sorry for a nice woman who was mistreated. To this day I wonder if my unwell mind produced those words in actual response to God.
That episode spooked me big time. I left work early to see a doctor. My jaw clenched and my fingers clutched incessantly at shirt and pants. I could barely keep one hand on the wheel to drive.
A psychiatrist would later examine and diagnose me but not that day or even that month. I continued to think I might have a form of Tourette Syndrome until the psychiatrist told me I was “stuck.” My life wobbled like a bicycle on the edge of a canyon.
One in four people suffer a mental disorder at some point between birth and death. When a person feels a major problem coming on, they tend to panic, remembering some “weirdo” that normal people avoid. The fear of becoming that weirdo can ruin a life.
Eleanor Longden wrote a compelling article describing her experience with voices. I could not find the magazine but found her riveting Ted Talk while searching for the reference:
Chances are good that most readers will someday face a disorder or will care for a loved-one who succumbs to one. To avoid stigma, keep three things in mind:
- Mental difficulty is not your fault. If we stopped adding iodine to salt, millions more people would have neurocognitive impairments. While the causes of psychological difficulties remain largely a mystery, they certainly do not mark their victims as lacking morals, good sense or human worth.
- Life goes on even while symptoms persist. I continued working throughout my episodes. A handful of coworkers at previous jobs told me they take psychiatric medications. Sometimes it came across like a confession, as if admitting to a secret sin. Many famous people achieved excellence while suffering.
- Symptoms often go away. One of the worst things about feeling depressed is the sense that it will last forever. Recovery is common. Therapy, medication and meditation help. Let go the fear without giving up the fight. You are not alone.
Maybe stigma is inevitable. I believed a voice that told me I was going to die. Still, I don’t look at it as stigmatizing. That voice came from my unconscious mind. Terrible events involving loved ones had placed me under great stress. The voice was right. Change or die.
I chose change. I found a great therapist who shared my Christianity. I cultivated friendships. I devoted a part of almost every morning to prayer and meditation, sometimes for hours. Exercise moved from the back burner to the front.
Life has given me more ups than downs. Failing to land a job in Anthropology led to other jobs that brought great satisfaction. Experiencing mental illness led to a more compassionate, less egotistical mindset. Taking up meditation transformed my life.
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This article was written in response to a challenge from Dr Mehmet Yildiz, the editor of ILLUMINATION. I beg his pardon for breaking the rules.