Mental health is still a taboo subject in Western culture. Even though it is getting more coverage and gaining acceptance, those suffering from mental illness wake up every day preparing to fight. In cultures where it’s acceptable to question other people’s actions, opinions, and choices, as well as dictate how one can live their life, mental health is widely misunderstood. My therapist refers to depression, anxiety, and other mental illnesses as “invisible diseases”. What one cannot see, they do not believe or understand. I’m not sure how the association escaped me for so many years, especially when the existence of God and the paranormal are so often brushed aside. I have never been so aware of the lack of understanding from people concerning my mental health until recently.
I have never been very active in the world. Most of my isolation was due to childhood abuse and socio-economic conditions. Now that I am married, and attempting to be out in the world, I lack a lot of the basic abilities most people enjoy. People terrify me, some days I am unable to get out of bed, I need a lot of down time to recoup from social outings, and I am so absorbed in my own head during most interactions that I spend most of my time alone, frustrated and confused. Thus, work is near impossible. Employers don’t look well upon people who call in several times a week, who break down into tears for no reason, and who don’t participate in office politics. So I am unemployed. Yet, nearly every day someone presents me with a new solution on how to get a job. Whether it be a new institute that is hiring, a suggestion of “just do it and you’ll feel better”, or questioning whether I want to be a “kept woman”, the consensus is that folks just don’t get it.
Thinking on this issue, as I tend to do a lot, I have realized that the separation I feel from society is largely due to my “invisible diseases” and people’s lack of understanding. I was abused and neglected as a child. It wasn’t until I started with my current therapist, at the age of 24, that I realized I was a victim of child abuse. She had said it in such a matter-of-fact manner, without judgment or uncertainty, I was stunned. At first I wanted to correct her, explain that while I had watched my parents fight and hurt one another they had never done so to me. I was never hit (aside from spankings, which were perhaps overly done during times due to young parent frustrations, that were all the rage when I was being brought up) or locked in dark closets when I was bad. I was never forced to drink soap or had a bone broken. Instead my spirit and heart were tormented.
Every day I was reminded that I would never be loved unconditionally, that I caused more problems then I was worth, that I would never amount to anything, and that I would never be able to do anything right. When these messages weren’t being drilled into my psyche, I might as well have not existed. I was not allowed to leave the house, or have outside activities. I quickly lost every friend I gained because my parents didn’t approve. My school participation was regarded without care, and no extracurriculars were allowed for numerous reason: we didn’t have money, I was too fat, I had no talent, I wasn’t attractive or friendly, I didn’t possess the right skills and I was able to learn, I didn’t make my parents believe I wanted it enough or I had forgotten to clean my room earlier in the week. It didn’t matter the reason really, the result was a life indoors with only the television for company.
I realize, now, that this is abuse. I spent years feeling I was simply crazy. There was something wrong with me. I couldn’t function in society because I was mentally insane, and therefore I was useless and deserved to die. I was not worth the air that I breathe. After all, my life wasn’t bad. I didn’t get abused (which in my mind constituted physical or sexual), I had food, I got to watch TV whenever I wanted, both of my parents were still around. Yes, I had watched the extensive domestic violence within my household for several years, but there are others who have seen so much, why then wasn’t I able to get past it? Insanity, pure and simple. Children are often given seminars about abuse, but these seminars focus on the sexual and physical side. The symptoms of mental and emotional abuse are never really addressed. Even teachers, doctors, social workers are taught in a way to focus on the sexual and physical side. Someone like me, who was abused in a very minority way, is left undetected and without help.
The realization that I am not crazy and I was abused is astonishing. I have hope for the first time in as long as I can remember. I feel like I can beat this thing. I was abused and now, with the right treatment, I will return as a functioning member of society. I no longer believe that I am unworthy, just that I lived in a world that taught me that I was, and slowly, but surely, I will start to see the truth beneath all the lies. Abuse of this caliber is just as crippling as physical or sexual, only people cannot use their eyes to see our scars. Instead, most of the time we suffer alone taking the responsibility and blame onto ourselves. We do not see someone who has risen from adversity or survived, but only someone who is wrong, shameful, and worthless. Not only do the people we encounter not understand our disease, we do not understand it. If one were in full body case, then others would not expect them to “do it anyway” if it hurt. One would not be told they are faking it, or to get over the anguish. The injured would be given understanding, acceptance, and plenty of time to heal. Those of us with “invisible diseases” have to remember that we are deserving of the same. Just because we cannot see the barriers, and others do not understand, does not mean we need or deserve anything less.
