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I had a long phone talk with Mom this morning, to tell her about my doctor visit and the results. She was not only completely unsurprised, but she was a little surprised that I didn't really suspect.
My mother says I'd been like that since childhood. She never told me for fear that it would upset me. Depression, anxiety, chronic pains, seizures, all of it. I'm the one who never suspected. Indeed, I am highly unobservant. Not to say that it is my fault, but maybe it is my fault. Biochemistry and brain sickness notwithstanding.
I am willing to accept that I probably did this to myself. Even though I probably didn't. It's brain chemistry. It's an illness. It's an entity.
Now it's time to fight back.
One of the biggest and most hurtful stigmas about mental illness is that it is your fault. If you had just done this differently, not done that, been this way or that, it wouldn't have happened. Nobody ever wants to feel that they did it to themselves. But they're made to feel that way by people who, through insensitivity, inability to empathize, or annoyance, insist that all they need to do is "Slap a Band-Aid on it and walk it off, stop complaining, maybe those pills you're on make it worse, you just need to smile more often."
I don't know how to respond to that anymore. So I don't. It's not their business. They're not living my life. I know what I need to do for myself. Their words and attitudes do affect me to a point. But it's words. It's my reaction to those words. It's my life. It's nobody else's life.
I may be the last to realize this. But it's good to know that my physical and mental conditions really have been with me since I was a child. It's good to know that helpful treatments are within reach. And it's good to know that my mother was, is, and always will be one of my best friends. Thank you, Mom, for helping me remember, helping me accept, and helping me work with it.
When I find a psychologist who specializes in chronic pain and illness, I may have a lot more to talk about than I thought...
Edit, a day later: I found a psychotherapist who specializes in chronic pain, fibromyalgia, and physical disabilities. I took the first step. Our first meeting is scheduled for next Monday. I am, naturally, nervous. But I'm tired of listening to people who believe that psychotherapy is "pointless bullshit" especially when those same people need psychotherapy themselves. Point: Just because you've never been able to find a doctor you liked doesn't mean you can turn your frustrations on me. I am nervous but happy. This is a good thing.
My mother says I'd been like that since childhood. She never told me for fear that it would upset me. Depression, anxiety, chronic pains, seizures, all of it. I'm the one who never suspected. Indeed, I am highly unobservant. Not to say that it is my fault, but maybe it is my fault. Biochemistry and brain sickness notwithstanding.
I am willing to accept that I probably did this to myself. Even though I probably didn't. It's brain chemistry. It's an illness. It's an entity.
Now it's time to fight back.
One of the biggest and most hurtful stigmas about mental illness is that it is your fault. If you had just done this differently, not done that, been this way or that, it wouldn't have happened. Nobody ever wants to feel that they did it to themselves. But they're made to feel that way by people who, through insensitivity, inability to empathize, or annoyance, insist that all they need to do is "Slap a Band-Aid on it and walk it off, stop complaining, maybe those pills you're on make it worse, you just need to smile more often."
I don't know how to respond to that anymore. So I don't. It's not their business. They're not living my life. I know what I need to do for myself. Their words and attitudes do affect me to a point. But it's words. It's my reaction to those words. It's my life. It's nobody else's life.
I may be the last to realize this. But it's good to know that my physical and mental conditions really have been with me since I was a child. It's good to know that helpful treatments are within reach. And it's good to know that my mother was, is, and always will be one of my best friends. Thank you, Mom, for helping me remember, helping me accept, and helping me work with it.
When I find a psychologist who specializes in chronic pain and illness, I may have a lot more to talk about than I thought...
Edit, a day later: I found a psychotherapist who specializes in chronic pain, fibromyalgia, and physical disabilities. I took the first step. Our first meeting is scheduled for next Monday. I am, naturally, nervous. But I'm tired of listening to people who believe that psychotherapy is "pointless bullshit" especially when those same people need psychotherapy themselves. Point: Just because you've never been able to find a doctor you liked doesn't mean you can turn your frustrations on me. I am nervous but happy. This is a good thing.
