Before my diagnosis, I honestly had no idea that what was happening in my brain could even be considered a mental illness. Aside from the spiritual nature of my obsessions, I was still functioning moderately normally. I was able to get into a good university. I was able to excel in my classes. I was able to go out, laugh, and have fun. I was able to maintain friendships (thinking the whole time that I was such a terrible person that I didn't deserve friends). Even after I graduated, I was able to maintain my level of functioning for a time. Sure, I had bouts of anxiety that made me cry myself to sleep, and sure, I had times when I thought it'd be a divine act of mercy if I didn't wake up the next day. But...those REALLY bad times didn't happen all the time, and most days, I could be outwardly fine while I felt like a terrible human being on the inside. It was more like a moderate level of a bad time all the time inside so that that became my normal so that I got used to feeling that way all the time.
My ideas of mental illness included only the severe cases that seriously impacted a person's ability to function. Someone in and out of hospital as they struggled with bipolar disorder I recognized as mental illness. Someone home from a combat zone, tormented by flashbacks and nightmares and unable to handle the unpredictability of crowds or to sleep at night, I recognized as mental illness. Someone so terrified of germs that they washed their hands until they were raw, cracked, and bleeding, I recognized as mental illness. Someone so depressed that they literally can't get out of bed, I recognized as mental illness. Someone (me) who only had trouble functioning sometimes (like on Christmas break my freshman year of university when I couldn't eat, was afraid to be out my mom's sight, and cried at night so that my mom thought I was having a nervous breakdown), I didn't recognize as mental illness since it only happened once.
I was still functioning, and I wasn't exhibiting any symptoms for mania or psychosis, so I thought I was (mostly) fine. I thought I was just having a rough time brought on by stress. I blamed it all on the stress of going from a high school to a university student (and the fact that I thought I was probably possessed). I would have low periods like this, and then as soon as I was able to get back into a routine I would be okay. I couldn't be mentally ill if I was still functioning in society at a "normal" level without mania or psychosis, so it had to be demons and stress, right? Wrong.
I had what you call a high-functioning mental illness. I was basically a functioning pit of despair and anxiety clothed in human skin, but I didn't see that as "true" mental illness (aside from the times I hoped I had schizophrenia instead of demonic possession) because I could still get up and go to class and do my homework like everyone else. I thought I didn't need treatment because I was still able to do everything I had to get done everyday, and so that meant my anxiety (and the thoughts that later turned out to be part of my OCD), weren't actually a mental illness. That was just how my life was and how my life would be. It would be a rough time, but everybody felt like they had a rough life to an extent, right? I had gotten so used to the low to moderate constant anxiety and feeling like a terrible human, so I could just keep on dealing with it.
Here's the thing about high-functioning mental illness: it's still mental illness, and it needs treatment. It might not affect your ability to function outwardly, but it does affect your quality of life. Anything that brings down your quality of life deserves to be addressed, whether it's through lifestyle changes, a self-help workbook, or therapy. Don't let it eat alive on the inside just because you still have the ability to go to school or work everyday. If something doesn't feel quite right, even if it's only sometimes, you don't have to just power through until the next spiral.
I'll end with this: High-functioning anxiety, depression, and PTSD are still mental health conditions that deserve the time and care of treatment. Trust me, just because you can manage your high-functioning mental illness right now doesn't mean that it won't get worse later without treatment. The goal of life isn't just to a functioning human. The goal of life is to be a healthy, happy human.
