© sippakorn
For a long time, for a whole lot of reasons, I kept my mental issues out of my internet spaces. Part of me just didn’t want to deal with my own feelings about it. Part of me knew I’d be judged and looked down upon. Part of me knew I’d get too much support (the kind that makes me more anxious.) And part of me was afraid I’d look like I was hopping on the postpartum depression bandwagon (not that there is such a thing, anyway, but it can feel that way.)
Yesterday, after a long, long journey, I finally visited the psychiatrist at the public health clinic. After her very thorough assessment, she told me very confidently that I have a “severe anxiety disorder.” She explained why she thought that, and I really believed her. Of course I have a clinical anxiety problem. I’ve known this all along, whether I would admit it to myself or not. She told me I needed to consider medication to begin the healing process, and in the long term, talk therapy could cure me of it. We talked for a long time about my present, my past, and the various times I was treated for mental health problems in my twenties. For example:
Did you know I was once treated for Bipolar Disorder? Of course you didn’t.
I don’t tell anyone about the year I spent on Depakote from ages 24-25, which damaged my liver, caused all my hair to fall out, and packed nearly 40 lbs on my small frame. I don’t tell anyone about that year because A.) it was the wrong diagnosis – within a year another doctor declared I wasn’t Bipolar, and B.) that year was humiliating.
But I generally provide full disclosure on my blog and other social media outlets. I put my birth on YouTube, for crying out loud. I did that because I thought it might help someone else, and ultimately, that’s exactly why I decided to come out of the closet on my current mental health uncertainties. I hoped it might provide some support to the many other women suffering. I also think the stigma surrounding mental health is a feminist issue, and not talking about it would feel very inauthentic to me. I shouldn’t have to be ashamed of this, and neither should you.
When I posted a status update on my facebook page yesterday about having prescriptions for Zoloft and Lorazepam, I knew I was opening myself up to comments. I thought I’d get a few supportive comments (which I did), or that people would avoid the topic entirely. But I didn’t expect to also read a huge heap of condescending, judgmental comments from people who insisted that I was taking the easy way out, who didn’t think I’d done an ounce of research regarding alternative options, and even some who accused me of being a bad feminist for asking Big Pharma for help.
I heard,
“I wish you wouldn’t take those drugs.”
“You can cure this with raw cashews.”
“Pills are the easy way out.”
“Fish oil is a better solution.”
“You’re only putting a bandaid on the problems.”
“Have you even looked into natural remedies?”
“If you just quit going to school, you wouldn’t be so stressed.”
“Those drugs are going to hurt your baby.”
“All you need to do is eat better and exercise more.”
“Why haven’t you been treated by a naturopath?”
“Acupuncture cures everything.”
“A Feminist wouldn’t take pills.”
Some of those suggestions are insulting to my intelligence: Have I not made it clear that I’m an advocate for informed consent? Why wouldn’t I inform myself before consenting to anything?
Some comments are steeped in privilege: My last visit to a naturopath WHEN I HAD INSURANCE cost $500. And my husband has no job. Where the hell do people think I’d get money to pay for $500 visits to a naturopath?
And some are just insulting: “The easy way out?” When have I ever, EVER, taken the “easy” way out of anything? I have scraped and clawed my way out of poverty and suffered for years because I’ve been too proud to get help.
Of course, there were people who didn’t know why I even mentioned it, and who insisted that I deserved the criticism for openly discussing my diagnosis.
This is why people hide this stuff away. This is why so many women suffer in silence.
But I’m not going to do that. I’m going to keep talking about it. What I WON’T be doing is reading any comments that are anything less than supportive. I don’t mind if people have their own opinions, or if they believe something different worked for them – but I don’t have to hear about it. That’s no longer helpful to me at this point.
Last night, I started the Zoloft again. I was extremely apprehensive about taking any pills but so far, it’s been nothing at all like the last time. This time, I’m starting on just half the dosage, so that’s probably making all the difference.
I’m expecting there may be a few rough weeks as the pills start to take effect, but I hope that I can count on my readers to cut me some slack in the mean time. I don’t need to hear about how baked kale would have cured me. I don’t need anyone questioning whether I can take more time off or hire more help. I just want to be able to talk about this without having to dodge veiled insults or unhelpful suggestions.
If you have some support to lend, I’ll gladly take that off your hands.
I have found the thing that has helped me most with my anxiety is accepting it. Just letting go and being ok with the idea that I am going to be a nervous wreck sometimes and sometimes it's going to be very noticeable to others that I'm a nervous wreck. And to not let myself become even more of a nervous wreck because of that. Acceptance has helped me come quite a long way in a short time. I'm not completely ok. I'd much prefer to not have any anxiety at all. But this has helped. I don't have insurance and found it extremely difficult to get medication, so this has been my alternative. It kind of sounds counter productive , because it sounds like just giving in to the idea that you are anxious. But somehow the accepting part has helped me to be less anxious.
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