There is a lot of stigma out there when
it comes to mental illness, a lot of people grow up in families that
have this idea that mental illness is all in your head. I know, I
know. It is all in your head, ha ha, but what I mean is that you are
simply over thinking a small problem. Depression isn't real, it's an
illusion. You're just sad. You don't have anxiety you worry too much.
Stop thinking all the time. Like those of us with these problems can
stop our brains from being the way they are. Too many people out
there think mental illness is not a real thing, when you have a
breakdown it's because you're weak. Hell, I grew up in one of those
households.
I used to believe that I couldn't be
depressed if I knew what depression was, because then I would just be
faking it since I knew the symptoms. “I'm must be looking for
attention” (this is something my mom told me). Yes, it sounds
stupid when I say that out loud, but in my family it made total
sense. I needed to toughen up, focus on the here and now, I'm not
depressed. All of this is a dangerous road to take when it comes to
any mental illness, ignoring the problem does nothing but make it
worse.
Would you ignore a lump in your breast?
How about an oozing sore in your mouth? Or you know a toe that just
happens to fall off?
For everyone of them an average person
would head right over to the doctor for treatment. (I say average
person because I know a guy that literally let his toe rot away until
the bone was showing, while knowing about it the whole time and
having health insurance. Lucky bastard.)
With all this negative and avoidance
type response to mental illness I feel the need to share a positive
story about mental illness when it comes along. Hit the link and read
about this amazing mother who helped her son when he came to her. It
really hits the feels.
There is not a lot of details in the
story, and the mom didn't do anything super special and over the top
to help her son. Instead she listened, took in what he had to say,
and went to get him help. She stood by his side, and really that is
HUGE!!!!
Give her the mother of the fucking
decade award! Any parent that listens to their children about their
problems, believes them—validates what they are feeling, and then
sets out to help them through it. Damn, parent of the year right
there, because there are a lot of parents out there like my own
mother who. . . who don't give a single shit about their kids. While
they, themselves, suffer from mental illness and at times pass it
down to their children, these people still stick their noses up at
the idea of depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, ect. They teach
their children that mental illness isn't real, depression isn't real,
and for those who take meds for such things are completely nuts.
Like my cousin, Bee. She has always had
her problems, and being a spoiled brat is a big one of them, but she
also has a mental illness. She is clinically depressed and is
bipolar, and ever since I can remember when Dani talked about Bee
this is how it went.
“My poor sister dealing with a mental
case for a daughter. . . Bee is nuts she just needs to get her shit
together. . . There is nothing really wrong with her, she just likes
attention.”
My extend family was nice to her and
allowed her to come to family things, but what Bee didn't know was
she was shunned. Family members whispered about her behind her back,
some suggested she be locked up in a hospital, and others thought she
needed her own straight-jacket. Nice family.
Knowing how my family sees mental
illness and how I was raised to think anyone with head problems
should be committed, it was a big deal for me to confide in my mom
about what was going with me. We briefly went over depression,
suicide and other mental illnesses in health class. I knew the basics
and still I refused to believe I was depressed in my teens, even
though I knew I was. When I hit about 15 or 16 I started doing things
I didn't understand, I was rebelling. Taking things apart, crying in
secret all the time, wanting to burn myself. When Dani asked, in
complete annoyance at my behavior, what was wrong I broke down. I
cried in hysterics and told her I didn't know, that I felt all over
the place. I kept repeating I didn't know what was wrong with me,
that I cried all the time, I was restless, and a lot of times I
couldn't sleep. It was like something you see in a movie. The main
character having a complete breakdown and getting it all off their
chest, and from there things are suppose to get better.
Well, it didn't. Not for me, because
this is life and not a movie. Dani hugged me, told me to clean my
face up, and then went into the school to get my brother and sister
from basketball practice. Or whatever they were doing.
We never talked about it again. Dani
never brought it up, never offered to help me, or take me to a
therapist. It simply never happened. My big moment of emotional
release—of truth—and it was like it never happened. I know I have
recalled this moment before on here, so why am I retelling it.
Two reasons. 1. So newcomers don't have
to go back and find it, and 2. because there is more to the story.
How could there be more, right? What
other bullshit could Dani have done?
Hold on to your seats because I'm about
to reveal just how much of an outcast I was in my own family. When I
was in the 5-6 grade Dani and CJ (my stepfather) started having real
problems. To be fair they have always had problems, my earliest
memory of them together is yelling, screaming, a laundry basket being
put through a motel room window, and the police showing up. When I
say they started having real problems, what I mean is CJ's temper
reached a new violent level, and his cheating stopped being so
secret. Dani did the right thing and kicked his ass out, but then she
fell apart and so did my brother and sister. They were young, super
young. My brother had just started kindergarten, and the fighting on
visitation days effected us all.
My brother was most effected, which I
believe was due to the fact he had speech problems growing up. He had
his own language about the time he should have been talking, one only
my sister and I understood and would often translate for everyone.
Expression was not his strong point and when the split happened he
started chewing on his shirt collars. He would go through two to
three shirts a day because his front would be soaking wet. It got so
bad his lips and chin were chapped all the time. My sister got more
impossible. For a four year old she knew how to manipulate the hell
out of people. She knew what buttons to push to get a rise out of
anyone, and damn if she wasn't an exasperate at that, still is till
this day. Clearly they had developed some mental illness as a result
of their parents breaking up, not to mention the emotional abuse from
their father and probably sexual at some point (hell he did it to me,
I wouldn't be surprised).
Why am I telling you all this? What
point am I trying to make?
Well these behaviors came off and on
way into my brother and sister's teen years, and a lot it went away
and then came back and got worse when CJ married his new wife. This
was right around the time I had my breakdown. You know what my mom
did for my brother and sister?
Anytime any of their symptoms showed up
she took them straight to their therapist. Yep, she took them to
therapy. Dani researched for the best child therapist in the area to
help with family problems, and dealing with stress. She took them
each twice a week to talk to someone. She told them it was alright
and that things were going to get better, hell she even saw the same
doctor sometimes herself. Me. . . I was left out in the waiting room.
I never got the help I needed, Dani instead told me to grow
up—man-up—we are independent women, we don't have time for
crying.
I was in crisis, I reached out but I
never got any help. Even after her boyfriend sexually assaulted me,
Dani never offered me to talk to anyone. Okay, I take that back. She
wanted me to talk to the priest at our church. An old man with shaky
hands, uhhh, no thank you.
The day after the assault happened Dani
turned it into something all about her. I was the one taken advantage
of, and yet somehow it was all about her. She was the afflicted one
because she lost her man, and it was her daughter that was attacked,
the poor woman!
We arrived at my brother and sister's
school/our church and everyone knew about what happened. The teachers
were coming up to me apologizing, saying how sorry they were for what
happened. God, I didn't want anyone to know. Getting through the
police interview the night before was hard enough.
Everyone fucking knew I was sexually
assaulted, do you know how embarrassing that was? How mortified and
off guard I felt? It was hell all over again, I might as well have
been raped right there all over again, for everyone to see.
Dani, the amazing person she is,
proudly turned her nose up and said, “she's handling it perfectly.
I talked to a therapist this morning about it and he said Jackie not
acting like a victim is a good thing.”
Not acting like a victim? Fuck, I
didn't even know what was going on 90% of the time. Which way was up
or down, I just wanted it to go away. Which is NOT a healthy way to
deal with it. But she never once took me to talk to anyone, I was
never given the help I needed. Instead I was paraded around like a
brave child Dani had raised. Yes, she instilled this strength in me.
My bravery as all her. While I suffered alone and in silence she
peacocked.
However, my brother and sister start
acting out and right to therapy they go. The double standards in my
family are. . . well, I never saw them until a few years ago. I
thought this was all normal, it's traumatizing when you find out your
normal is an average person's hell. I often feel emotionally
handicapped.
I would like to end by saying, good for
you, to this inspiring mother, and add I wish she was my mom. I might
have stood some type of chance in life. I wouldn't have the scars and
wounds I carry now, and maybe—just maybe—I could make it through
a day without haunting memories or having a breakdown over a few
dropped eggs.
Here's to us survivors that were given
no support and shamed for our mental illness, spread the word and
never ignore someone that opens up to you. It takes a lot for anyone
to admit they are struggling.
#AwesomeMom #MentalIllnessAwareness
#Depression #Anxiety #SaveALife
~Jax~
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