Being BiPolar
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking in the back of my head about some things that came up in my posting yesterday about losing a friend. It all has to do with the insidious nature of mental illness and its stigma in our society. I am, as a matter of course, very careful who I share the information about my illness with. It doesn’t belong as common knowledge at the workplace, I don’t tell the grocery checker, and I don’t always share it with accquaintances. Of course, given the name of my blog, I guess I potentially share it with the world, but there is an element of anonymity there so it’s not the same. It’s not up close and personal.
The reasons for not telling people are both simple and complex. The simple answer is that I feel like it’s none of anyone’s damn business. But the complex answer is tied up in that stigma I mentioned. People to this day think of mental illness like BiPolar (or manic depression if you will) as some sort of mental defect, or even worse something that is all in my head, like I have the capacity to control it with my will. When people think like that it is as if people who have BiPolar are not able to function normally. It’s as if people think I’m not capable of acting rationally. I really don’t need to have people feeling that way about me. It’s a hard enough struggle without that added bonus.
But what’s been stuck in my craw has been the fact that somewhere along the line, that stigma snuck up behind me. I’ve told people I trust. I never ever thought that opposition or misunderstanding would come from them. Yet, I learned yesterday, that not only does my soon-to-be exhusband feel that way about me, but apparently he has given that same impression to people that I cared about.
I think the thing that I hate the most is the same thing that all people with a disability or chronic illness face. And that is the pity that comes through when people feel they are being “compassionate and understanding”. The belief in their eyes that somehow BiPolar makes me less responsible for my actions, and less capable of acting rationally.
That is the core of the post from yesterday. That belief took away a friend of mine, and made him see me as someone I’m not. Diagnosing my illness didn’t change who I am, what I do or think, or how I live my life. I am still myself. I didn’t suddenly become “sick” and in need of such “protection” (the word my friend used). In fact, it makes me almost as angry as the fact that my stb ex actually apologized for his behavior because I had BiPolar but it wasn’t diagnosed. As if my illness caused his actions. That would be like me apologizing for my behavior because he has black hair, or a moustache. Ugggg.
And making my blood boil through it all, is that the people feeling that way don’t even see it as a problem. They think they are being kind. Prejudice of yet another color. And one for which there isn’t even an awareness yet… Sucks to be me sometimes.
c. s. blitch said on Mar 5, 2006 @ 12:47 am
Great post! Its hard enough to deal with the diagnosis. I lost my best friend, a job (boss saw my meds in my bag), so on and so forth. I finally decided they are the crazy ones and I am perfectly normal… at least I know I am a bit off kilter!