Expectations

     We've probably all been in that place in our lives when we, for whatever reason, didn't live up to someone's expectations of who we were or what we should be doing with our lives. Maybe we didn't live up to our parents' expectation and become a doctor or teacher. Maybe you didn't live up to your own expectations when you changed jobs to forge a new career path to protect your happiness and your sanity. And you maybe didn't live up to so-and-so's expectations as they interrogated you over Thanksgiving dinner about your life choices (like why you might have dropped down to part time in college to be able to better manage your mental health condition or why you do/don't take medication for the aforementioned mental health condition).
     I know I've been in plenty of situations like that. In some way, I didn't live up to someone's expectations. Many, many times I didn't live up to my own expectations. I have a habit of not doing what is expected of me, apparently. Sometimes it's intentional (like deciding in the second semester of my senior year of college to try to build a freelance career and write fiction for a living instead of going to grad school or law school). Other times, I didn't live up to expectations because of things outside of my control (like the sudden derailing of my life for a year or so because of my mental health).
     People that are older and "wiser" than me comment on my life choices sometimes. Family members and some family friends had expectations that I missed along the path of honoring who I am, and those people tend to scoff or be disappointed because I took my life in a less conventional direction. Sometimes knowing that I disappointed someone, or seeing someone scoff at something I've been working so hard on because they may not understand just how hard I've been working, can really make me second guess myself. I'll catch myself asking, "Is this really who I am? Is this really who I want to be? Am I really happy with this life that I am creating?" The fact that they saw something or someone different can shake me up a bit because I start to wonder if I'm really living up to my full potential. Other times, my reaction is something like, "How dare you scoff and be disappointed just because I'm not the person you expected me to be. I am who I am, and I have worked hard to become this (mostly) happy person that I actually like (most days, anyway)."
     Here's the thing that I always need to remember, and it's something that my therapist regularly talks about with me: I do not have to live up to anyone else's expectations. I have to honor who I am, and I have to make the choices that will keep me on the path to being a happy, healthy, and well-adjusted human. So what if someone else doesn't understand the choices that keep me happy and healthy. Other people's disappointment has nothing to do with me, really. Their expectations were a projection of their idea of me, and it isn't my fault that their ideas don't match who I am. It wouldn't matter if I had a mental health condition or a healthy brain, I still don't have to feel bad for not living up to someone else's expectations.
     I'll end with this: You are under no obligation to live up to other people's expectations. You only have to live the life that makes you happy and keeps you healthy. If you want to change majors, career paths, or anything else about your life to protect your mental health and honor who you are, then do it. Don't let the weight of everyone else's ideas of what your best life should look like keep you trapped in a box that you didn't even ask to be put into.

The Suffering Artist

    Since my anxiety struggle began and I got my OCD diagnosis, I have found it more difficult to write than before I struggled with anxiety. With a mental health condition, it's so easy to get lost in the suffering and mental turmoil that comes with life with a mental health condition. Everything else becomes blurry background scenery and static when I'm just trying to survive from one day to the next. I can barely even hold it together enough to go to the grocery store, so of course I can't sit down and write a novel or short story or even a poem.
     I am at my most creative when I am well. Sure, I write about life with a mental health condition, and that includes the mental turmoil, but I can only write about that after I have survived and come out on the other side of it. While I'm in the middle of it, nothing but survival matters. Art doesn't matter while I am in the middle of suffering through an OCD spiral. It's only later, after I have taken care of myself and gotten back to a healthier place that I can think clearly and logically enough to put anything down on the page.
     I started to notice this suffering artist trope in movies, TV, and even online in articles and cute Pinterest pins. These things romanticized suffering, and they made it seem like the artist had to suffer to create something great. Some artists even refused help because they could only create so beautifully while they were suffering so terribly. I also started seeing things about the link between mental illness and creativity. Those articles pointed out that creative types are more likely to be mentally ill. The romanticizing of mental illness continues...
     Here's the problem I have with the suffering artist trope: People romanticize the suffering with mental health conditions as the CAUSE for the creativity, like almost everyone that creates something beautiful must be suffering, which is an incorrect assumption. That makes it seem like if a person gets help, all their creativity will be gone, which, of course, is going to make some people afraid to seek help for a mental health condition, especially if they believe their art is all they have.
     I think some people come into the world innately creative, and then some of those people develop a mental health condition while other creatives do not because mental health is unpredictable. Then the people that were already creative use that creativity as a way to cope and process life with their mental health condition. They use creativity as an outlet, but that doesn't mean their mental health condition caused them to be creative. I think the creativity is a way of healing and recovering. I also think that if a creative person got help for their mental health condition, their creative powers would flourish instead of vanish because the turmoil and suffering wouldn't weigh the mind down.
     Your mental health condition didn't make you a creative genius. You were already a creative genius, your mental health condition was just the piece of life that made you feel deeply enough to realize you needed to say something about it, much the same way love, anger, and heartbreak make people realize they NEED to say something to the world.
     If we're going to romanticize anything about mental illness, we should romanticize recovery. Romanticize the strength it took to fight your way out of a spiral and get the help you needed, and think of yourself as the hero of your own epic story. Romanticize the kindness you show yourself in getting well instead of the suffering you're clinging to for the sake of art.
     I'll end with this: The suffering artist idea is a myth. Creativity isn't a side effect of mental illness, and mental illness isn't a side effect of creativity. An untreated mental health condition and the suffering it brought didn't turn anyone into a creative genius. Suffering with an untreated mental health condition isn't something we should romanticize. You don't have to cling to the stereotype of the suffering artist to create something beautiful because beauty also comes from being kind to yourself and allowing yourself to recover.

"Crazy" for Halloween

     It's nearly Halloween again. You know what that means: horror movies hit theaters, Michael Jackson's "Thriller" comes back on the radio, haunted attractions spring up all over the place, costumes, costume parties, candy, and of course, the "Insane Asylum" attractions spring up just as frequently as the other haunted house attractions. There are even kids and adults in straightjacket costumes because they wanted to go as a "psycho" for Halloween.
     Now, as an adult I sort of like Halloween. I don't like the scary stuff, but I do like the dark and moody festive vibe of the whole day. (I may also be dreaming of someday finally getting to go to a Masquerade Ball...) I also think it's hilarious to see people get their wits scared out of them at some Halloween haunted house attraction. I am by no means a Halloween hater. I'm just a Halloween observer instead of a Halloween partaker.
     I do have one thing that I dislike about Halloween: the "Insane Asylum" attractions and the "psycho" straightjacket costumes. I don't like them simply because they use mental illness as a "scary" or "fun" thing. The fact that I still see these "Insane Asylum" attractions and the "psycho" Halloween costumes that consist of a straightjacket means that mental illness still isn't taken seriously and being treated as a real health condition. These attractions and costumes send out the message that people with mental health conditions like Dissociative Identity Disorder or Schizophrenia are scary monsters, instead of human beings with a brain that is unwell.
     Think about it for a second: These "Insane Asylum" attractions have a distinct image they put out. Creaking beds and long, dark hallways. Pale, dirty, sinister people chained to walls, hiding in corners, strapped into straightjackets, screaming or muttering nonsense. Maybe those pale, dirty people even seem physically threatening, and they chase or pretend they may harm you. Sinister nurses and doctors in white lab coats loom with threatening instruments. You may even hear blood-curdling screams coming from some areas of the "Asylum" where patients are being "treated" for something. The attraction may even advertise that once you go in, you'll be lucky to make it out alive. Scary, right?
     Now, I ask that you imagine you are someone that is suffering from suicidal ideation, psychosis, or a severe mental health condition so that a psychiatrist or therapist recommends that you go into a hospital for in-patient treatment. All you can imagine is a terrifying "asylum" atmosphere. I wouldn't want to go to some place that was always depicted like that, would you? I wouldn't want to be somewhere, where I thought I'd be put in a straightjacket or strapped down, would you? I'd only want to be treated like a human being. So, I'd probably go home (if I could leave the psychiatrist's office), and I'd suffer in silence instead of getting the help I desperately needed unless someone forced me into in-patient care. Then I would feel ashamed because everyone knows (from the movies, TV shows, and the "Insane Asylum" stereotypes), that if you go in the hospital that must mean you're completely crazy and possibly dangerous. The idea is terrifying for most people (myself included until I had a heart-to-heart with my therapist about what in-patient care was really like).
     The "Insane Asylum" attractions and "psycho" straightjacket costumes keep the idea that people with mental health conditions are scary and dangerous alive and well. As a result of that stereotype, many, many people are too afraid to get help because they're afraid of the way the rest of the world will see them. If they do get help, the moment in-patient care is mentioned they are filled with so much fear and shame that they may just stop seeking treatment if the psychiatrist or therapist lets them leave the office. (I was one of those people. I was too afraid to get help because I was afraid I'd be locked away in a hospital for the rest of my life.)
     I realize that so many people love these "Insane Asylum" attractions and the straightjacket costumes. I realize that they have been part of American Halloween "fun" for a long, long time. I also realize that it may seem like I am being picky and too sensitive by pointing out another aspect of the mental health stigma.
     If you think I'm being too sensitive, ask yourself this, why don't they make "Crippled Person" costumes? Why don't they have a fake wheelchair or fake leg braces with a walker or crutches? Where are the ideas for how to "talk like a handicapped person" on Google? Why don't they have fake "Group Homes" for Halloween with physically and mentally disabled actors behaving in menacing and threatening ways? What about the sinister doctors offering up "treatments" for the handicapped residents that result in blood-curdling screams from the end of a long, dark hallway? There are none of those things.
     If there was a "Group Home" attraction complete with disabled, scary people or a "crippled person" costume most people would be at least uncomfortable and at most extremely offended.  People would react negatively because we all know it's wrong to use something like a disability for a "fun" scare or an attraction because it's wrong to make light of human suffering. It's so wrong to use something that hurts other people and makes them suffer in any way as something "fun" or scary because that isn't giving those suffering people the respect and dignity they deserve.
     Mental health conditions and the people living with them deserve the same respect, but they don't get it. Every time an "Insane Asylum" attraction pops up or a kid or adult wanders around in a costume straightjacket, people with mental health conditions see their suffering made light of, and they see the fear society tells people to feel around a person with a mental health condition.
     I'll end with this: Mental health conditions cause pain and suffering just like Cerebral Palsy causes pain and suffering. We all know it's wrong to treat human pain and suffering as something that can be used as a Halloween costume or a "fun" scary attraction. Those "Insane Asylum" attractions and the "psycho" straightjacket costumes seem harmless, but  they aren't harmless. They actually send the message that people suffering with mental health conditions don't deserve the same dignity and respect as any other person who has any other health condition, and that, even after all this time, people with mental health conditions should still be feared by society. That isn't okay. Sending that message actually stops people from seeking treatment for their mental health condition. With this in mind, I hope we can all be mindful of the message we send out this Halloween.

Self Care

     Self care is broadly defined as any activity we deliberately do to take care of our emotional, mental, and physical health. It includes seeking professional help and our own personal care routine.
     Imagine this common scenario: You go to the doctor because you haven't been feeling quite right. Your doctor checks you out, and the doctor tells you that your cholesterol is high. Then your doctor tells you that you need to make some lifestyle changes to help you stay well. The doctor tells you to change your diet, to exercise more, drink more water, and the doctor even tells you about some supplements you can try to help improve your cholesterol and stay healthy.
     Of course, you do what your doctor advises, and maybe you even do some of your own research about exercise and healthy meals that best suit you. You may even decide to learn to cook, and you might go out and buy a cookbook for yourself from the local bookstore. You probably even talk to your friends and family to see if they have any helpful tips or advice about some other changes you could make to be healthier. Of course, you implement the changes without the blink of an eye or any worry about what other people might think when they realize that you are unhealthy. You make the changes because your health and well-being are important to you, and you know that implementing a self care routine is the best way to make sure you stay healthy.
     Imagine this other common scenario: You have a mental illness. You aren't feeling quite right. Maybe you're feeling more depressed or anxious than usual or you're thinking strange things more often than usual. Instead of making an appointment with your therapist or psychiatrist, you decide to "just deal with it". You "power through". You continue with your current lifestyle instead of re-evaluating your lifestyle to see if there are some things you could change to help yourself feel better again, like the amount you exercise, the food you eat, the amount you rest and relax, your workload, or maybe even adding in the use of medication (prescribed by your psychiatrist) or the use of supplements or essential oils (if you prefer a more natural approach).
     Of course, you don't talk to anyone about it, not even friends or family. You feel like you can't. You feel like you just have to "power through" or "just deal with it". Of course, you don't rest more or think about medications or supplements to help you feel better. Of course, you don't take a mental health day. You worry about people knowing that you're struggling or that you aren't as healthy as you were weeks or months ago. You know you need help. You know you should implement some self care, but you're worried about being judged if you admit that you're struggling.
     It's "only" a mental health condition, right? You don't have to treat those like real illnesses, right? It's just one of those things, like feeling overwhelmed or stressed out, right? You can just push through it to the other side without really being impacted too much by it, right? You can just suck it up, right? It's not like it can kill you, right? (I hope you're all as offended by this attitude as I am.).
     Mental illnesses are actual illnesses, too, just like the heart disease you could end up with from high cholesterol. Mental illnesses deserve the same care and treatment as high cholesterol and the possibility of heart disease. Proper treatment and self care are REQUIRED to manage a mental illness, just like any physical illness. Both a mental health condition and something like high cholesterol REQUIRE some lifestyle changes to maintain a healthy body and mind. The self care and lifestyle changes are also more than likely going to be permanent because you can't just stop doing everything that got you well once you feel better (at least not if you want to stay feeling better).
     I often see online that people with a mental health condition see self care as selfish. They don't like to take a mental health day or reduce their workload because they feel lazy. They don't like going to bed early because they feel boring. They don't like saying no to a night out with friends or canceling plans because that makes them seem flaky. They don't eat healthier because being healthy is expensive, and they feel guilty for spending so much money on themselves. They don't want to make the extra appointments with their psychiatrist or therapist because that makes them seem needy.
     People don't feel that way about physical illnesses like high cholesterol. People don't think twice about going to the doctor to monitor heart function and cholesterol levels. People don't feel guilty saying, "Oh, I can't eat this or this or that or my ticker might give out." People don't feel guilty for arranging appointments or fun with friends around a workout schedule. People with high cholesterol don't feel bad for spending the money on healthy food because they know they need it to stay alive.
     Some try to make the argument that self care is needed more with physical conditions because physical conditions are deadlier than mental health conditions, but that isn't true. Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the US. Each year, 44,193 people die by suicide in the US. So, mental health conditions are just as deadly as any other type of health condition (American Center for Suicide Prevention, 2017).
     I can't emphasize this enough: Just like with any other health condition, self care for your mental health condition could save your life. It isn't weakness to realize that you might need to try medications. It's not a failure to come off medication and then later need to go back on medication. It isn't needy to recognize that maybe you need to see your therapist more often. It isn't silly or selfish to realize that you need to add in some relaxation techniques or meditation to your daily schedule. It isn't flaky to realize that you don't need to do an activity or be in a place that might negatively affect your mental health. It isn't lazy to realize that you need to rest more or that the amount you are working is hurting your mental health. It isn't crazy to realize that your job itself or work environment hurts your mental health, and then to go look for something different. It isn't selfish to spend the money on buying healthier food for yourself. It isn't crazy or selfish to carve out time to exercise, even if that means arranging plans around your workout schedule. It also isn't attention-seeking to talk to friends and family about how you're feeling so they know what's going on. Self care is smart.
     Self care also isn't easy. Even after 2 years in therapy, I still struggle to have the right types and amounts of self care in my life. I see my therapist once a week, and during the summer months, when I'm dealing with the memories of some traumatic events, I sometimes see my therapist twice a week. (Yes, seeing a therapist and taking your medications are part of self care...) I don't struggle with keeping my appointments, but sometimes I don't look forward to them. I know sometimes after a period of high anxiety, that I should take a nap, but I HATE naps. (This frustrates my mother to no end.) I also lapse in my meditation practice. Sometimes it's a chore to exercise 3 times a week, and sometimes, I don't manage 3 times a week. I am by no means perfect when it comes to my self care routine, but I can tell when I've put self care on the backburner for too long because I feel worse. Sometimes, I even fall back into the old pattern of "powering through". Then I feel guilty for not being kind to myself.
     I'll end with this: Everyone in the world could benefit from taking the time to figure out an adequate self care routine, not just those of us that live with a mental health condition. Self care is particularly important for achieving and maintaining wellness when you live with a mental health condition. It isn't always easy. You might not always want to do your self care routine, but your self care routine could save your life. Taking care of yourself and your mental and physical health is never selfish. It's smart.

Source for suicide statistics:
Suicide Statistics. (2017). Retrieved October 11, 2017, from https://afsp.org/about-suicide/suicide-statistics/

I'm Not Going to Tell You That

     I'm willing to share a lot of things about my mental health journey. I talk about OCD. I talk about Pure O. I talk about medication. I talk about therapy. I talk about coping and lifestyle changes. I'm not shy about having a conversation about mental health with anyone and everyone if I think it might help someone or at least make someone think about mental health as sort of a normal topic to think about and discuss.
     Some people even share their own mental health stories with me. Others are simply curious, and they ask me lots of questions, which is great. However, there is one question that I never answer. People ask, "What are your intrusive thoughts?"
     Once someone knows that I have Pure O, and that intrusive thoughts are a huge part of that condition, they always want to know exactly what my intrusive thoughts are. I'm never sure if it's a genuine need to understand or a morbid curiosity about how weird and depraved I am that drives the question. Either way, I always find myself unwilling to disclose that information. Sometimes, I've even had to bluntly say, "I'm not going to tell you that," because people keep asking and asking. I'm not offended by the question, just unwilling to answer it.
     I will tell them about intrusive thoughts in general. I'll talk about the categories that intrusive thoughts can fall into. I'll even provide examples. I just intentionally leave any personal information out of that topic. Yet, people still want to know what scary thoughts are blaring through my mind stereo, even after I explain that intrusive thoughts come from a person's worst fears. All I can ever bring myself to share is this: my intrusive thoughts all come from the fear that I am a bad person. Some people still ask, "But what are they?"
     Logically, I know that thoughts are just thoughts. Logically, I know the thoughts that play through my mind like a broken record don't say anything at all about me as a person. Logically, I know that thoughts mean nothing. Yet, emotionally, I'm not in a place in my recovery to disclose such traumatic information with someone that isn't my mother or my therapist. There is still some guilt, shame, and anxiety associated with my intrusive thoughts. I may never be willing to share my exact intrusive thoughts with someone else because they are so personal and traumatic. That's my choice.
     I sort of felt bad for not sharing my intrusive thoughts. What if someone else in the room was having the exact same problem, with the exact same thoughts, and by sharing mine, I could help them? Then I realized that I don't have to share every single thing about my life with OCD to help someone. I don't have to feel bad for deeming something about my mental health condition too personal to share with someone else.
     I'll end with this: You decide what, as well as when or even if you share about your mental health condition with other people. Don't let anyone pressure you into sharing more than you feel comfortable with. Just because you can't or won't talk about something doesn't mean that you aren't still slowly healing from it. You can be in a different healing place logically and emotionally, and that's okay.

Coping Over Time

     Before I knew what Pure O was, and even for a little while after I received a diagnoses of OCD and Panic Disorder, every time I had intrusive thoughts (which was constantly), I wanted to flee the "tainted" environment where the thoughts happened. If I was at home, I tried to cope by leaving my house to go anywhere that wasn't my tainted home environment. If my intrusive thoughts happened out in public, that environment was also tainted, and I avoided that place like my life depended on it. I used the public places and people as a distraction. If I was out and about, whatever was happening there had my attention so that I had a few moments of peace from the OCD and the panic. Then that stopped working, and going out while I was suffering through particularly high anxiety made the anxiety worse.
     These days, I find that if my anxiety spikes or my intrusive thoughts are particularly hard to deal with, my preferred coping method is to take a few minutes by myself. I'll do some deep breathing or meditation alone to cope instead of using people and public places as a distraction. If it's particularly rough, I'll even try some yoga for anxiety. (My favorites are Child's Pose and the legs-up-the-wall pose.) I also find that feeling useful helps my anxiety, so I might clean or cook or play with my cats, Lola and Clementine.
     Over the years, how I cope with my mental health condition has changed. Things that worked in the beginning stopped working. Some things work only once in a particular situation. Some coping methods work sometimes, but not all the time. Then some coping methods work pretty consistently.
     Changing up my coping methods isn't a negative thing. Sure, I get frustrated when something that worked last week doesn't work this time, but the fact that it doesn't work isn't a bad thing. It doesn't mean that my funky brain is onto all my tricks. It simply means that my needs have changed. A person's needs change all the time, so of course, my coping strategies have to change to help me meet my needs in any given situation.
     I'll end with this: Coping with a mental health condition in a healthy way isn't always easy. Just because a coping strategy worked yesterday doesn't mean it'll work today, and that's okay. You just pull something else out of your bag of tricks. Just because something didn't work last week doesn't mean it won't work this week. It's okay to try the same things again in a different situation. Just don't give up because you haven't figured out what works to help you feel better.

Just a Pile of Extra Work

      We have probably all experienced the mental health stigma that told us that mental health conditions are scary monsters that live in our brains from which we can never recover. This, of course, makes us expect people to run when we mention our mental health condition. Why should people be expected to put up with a scary monster when it has no chance of being "fixed" or at the very least, less broken? So, we're made to believe that having a mental health condition makes us something tragic, hopeless, and scary, which is just too much to expect someone else to reasonably and continuously deal with.
     Since I've been struggling through the worst of my anxiety for the past couple of years, I've noticed this recurring fear. This fear likes to pop up usually when I've had a particularly rough time with my anxiety, usually in the middle of hysterical sobbing or when I can't bring myself to be alone, when I'm at my most vulnerable. The fear: What if my OCD is too much for anyone else to deal with, and they just leave? What if everyone I love decides they can't deal with me anymore and they just...leave?
     I never worried about this sort of thing before the OCD had me in its grip at the age of nineteen, but now it's a regular thing that's on my mind. I worry that my friends will get tired of my anxiety-riddled, rambling messages. I worry that my mom is going to get tired of the tearful phone calls and the meltdowns and the being careful of triggers. In the middle of a sobbing, hysterical meltdown, I've asked her time and again if she's going to make me move out of the house because she's tired of my anxiety. (She would never do that.)
     Logically, I'm sure these things won't happen. It's just the anxiety. Anxiety picks up on your worst fear, and then anxiety beats you over the head with your worst fear until you can barely function. The fear is that a mental health condition can make me unlovable. Anxiety shoves you right over the edge from average-person worry into catastrophe. (The average person worries that their loved ones may just up and no longer love/like/care for them. Then the anxiety distorts that into thinking that I am unlovable.) I can use logic with anxiety all I want, but that doesn't erase the fear. Sometimes, I feel like my anxiety is too much for me to deal with, let alone for some other person outside myself to deal with. It's just so much work, which means I am so much work, and what other person wants to have all that extra work when they don't have to? My anxiety answers: No one.
     I know an unwell brain thrives on isolation, so of course my mental health condition pushes and pushes me to be isolated. If I am isolated with no support system, then the unwell brain can rage and wreak havoc with no one to point out anything that might stop it. Yet, knowing that doesn't stop me from getting lost down the rabbit hole and thinking I'm too much work and people don't want to put up with me.
     Here's what I want us all to realize and hold on to: Just because your mental health condition feels like too much for you to handle some days does not mean that you, as a human, are too much to handle. Even though a mental health condition is work to live with does not mean that you, as a human, are too much work. The people around you that truly love and care about you do not think that you are too much work. They just see a family member or friend that they want to be there for, that they want to help. You are more than just a pile of extra work in the form of crazy. No one sees you as tragically broken and hopeless. You have intrinsic value and good qualities that people love about you that are not diminished by the fact that you also have a mental health condition.
     I'll end with this: Yes, having a mental health condition requires work to function. Yes, some days require more effort than other days. Just because you have a mental health condition does not mean that you, as a human, are more work than you're worth. You are a human being, with intrinsic value, a unique personality, and good qualities, and the people that truly care about you see that. They don't see you as a pile of extra work they wish they could discard. The people that truly care about you will not leave you because you have a mental health condition.