Internalisation

On the tube today I wrote a note on my phone of everything that’s wrong with me. It’s not a rib-tickling read. Everything went into that note, from who I am as a person to the way I look; the friendships I can’t maintain to the multitude of people I let down every day; the unhealthy coping mechanisms I would put a stop to if they were being used by someone I care about to the complete inability to overcome panic attacks. I wrote them down because I hate trying to say them out loud. I just sound like a dick.

You know when you watch a film and there’s a depressed person in it? Do you ever find them almost aggressively annoying? I watched Beetlejuice last night, and fuck did I find Lydia Deetz irritating. The moment she writes her suicide note and redrafts it to sound more dramatic doesn’t quite pack the emotional punch a scene of that nature should- it just makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. Anyway, after that they have a lovely family séance, everything is immediately better and Lydia gains the ability to fly. All’s well that ends well. I spent the whole film thinking “oh my god, shut up.” I totally get that the film isn’t about the complexities of mental health- it just got me thinking about why it is that I was so desperate for her to just stop whining.

It’s not ok that I felt that way about Lydia Deetz last night. I work hard personally and professionally to make sure people around me feel they can open up should they want to. So why do I feel that I should be a terminally delightful ray of sunshine when I feel like the world is coming to an end? It goes far beyond getting a bit annoyed watching Beetlejuice.

The idea that optimism is strength has been internalised by too many of us. I apply this idea to absolutely everyone but myself. The view that every bad attribute I have is a massive flashing billboard signposting my glaring weakness, that they are fundamental flaws everyone would see if I let them, is something cemented into every interaction I have- office small talk, chats in the pub, conversations with family and friends. When being sad is seen as weakness, sadness as a chronic symptom must mean a person is chronically weak. The fact that I feel embarrassed to be struggling with self-medication, self-image, panic attacks and depression obviously comes from somewhere- in fact, I think it comes from everywhere.

And I do feel embarrassed. I feel really fucking embarrassed. It’s taking a lot to write this, which in itself should probably be enough for me to believe that I’m not chronically weak. But it’s not. I don’t know who will read this or how many people will think “babe just shut up, we’ve all got problems.” During bad episodes, interactions with those around a person can dictate the speed of their recovery or the likelihood of them opening up at all in the future.

I have been on the receiving end of some unbelievably damaging interactions about mental health. I have internalised them and they’ve become the foundation on which I’ve built the tentative way I now approach these discussions. This week I have totally isolated myself from friends and family so I don’t have to embarrass myself by being anything less than an almost oppressively cheerful presence, choosing instead to find ways of sleeping through this or sitting quietly with no lines of communication. My phone has been on do not disturb for 3 days, I've ignored people I love and I’ve removed myself from every situation I don’t absolutely have to be in.

Drama has never been my strong point. Any sign of contention or difficult conversation and I’ll just split. I hate the idea of being seen as overdramatic and, historically, being open and honest hasn't really worked out for me. I’m a little more comfortable writing about this because it’s not an interaction and I won’t have to defend my statements unless I want to. I can also set the tone much more easily by editing and censoring. That’s a little different to having a sit down conversation with someone about mental health, which for me have always ended up being an uphill struggle and, as I mentioned, a constant requirement to defend myself. They always go one of three ways- people make it about themselves, they invalidate your experiences or they’re just plain insincere. “Here for you if you need me” is a cop out- facts are facts, America.

There is so much encouragement for people with mental health conditions are to open up, but why is the onus on us? The responsibility then falls to people who are already in a waking nightmare. Here’s a thought- be a good listener. Do better. Pick up on changes and act on them. Google it. Ask the person what might help. Ask them if they want to be left alone. Ask them what they’re doing to get through the day. Avoiding the conversation makes people feel worthless- pretending it’s not happening is like knowing there’s a fire in your kitchen, going out to the pub and wondering why your house has burned down when you get back.

By the way, I love Beetlejuice and I don’t know why it brought something so existential out in me last night because what I got from it definitely wasn’t the intended message. Maybe I should have just watched Con Air- a film with no plot holes or issues whatsoever.