The Stigma of Mental Illness

I feel that I have to hide a side of myself, that I have to pretend to be a person that I am not because it seems that society views people that suffer from a mental illness as being social outcasts, people that are dangerous or viewed as being weak.

It takes so much effort and energy just to exist. But, it seems that most people don’t see that effort as being enough. They don’t see that I’m giving 100% of myself to just be alive; they don’t see the daily struggle. To be a “normal” person I have to give so much more than 100%. It is entirely exhausting.

It’s exhausting to hide the psychic pain, to pretend that I’m happy, to make myself push forward to make a life for myself. Personally, it’s exhausting because I’m in graduate school and I have to deal with the daily stresses of trying to maintain a better than average grade point average while coping with the ups and downs of suffering from bipolar disorder.

It’s exhausting to put a smile on my face. I fear to look people in the eye because I’m afraid of what they’ll see within myself. I don’t know what they’ll see, but it is said that the eyes are the window to the soul. I suppose I’m afraid that they’ll see my pain and ask me what’s wrong, but I won’t be able to tell them because of the stigma associated with being mentally ill. I have to hide myself. I have to give so much more of myself than is actually available just to seem like a “normal” person.

With other illnesses it seems that one is able to say “I haven’t been able to become accomplished because all of my efforts have been directed at just existing.” If I had cancer, for instance, it would be acceptable to say my life has been on hold because of that illness and people would sympathize. But, it seems that if I were to say my life has been on hold and I’m starting over because I’ve been dealing with a mental illness people would view it in a negative manner; they would see me as being a freak, being fragile, being weak. And because of the idea that it is socially unacceptable to suffer from a mental illness, I have to hide that side of myself. I have to tell lies; I have to say “oh, I’m just tired,” when in reality I’m terribly despondent.

This is my burden, my baggage; and it seems that I have to bear it alone. Even though I have very dear friends that know of my illness it still seems that I can’t make new, righteous relationships because I can’t let that new person see who I truly am, which is a good person who suffers from a terrible malady. I can’t let them see who I really am because they’ll leave me, abandon me.

It’s okay to be friends with someone with a mental illness, but it seems that no one wants to be in a romantic relationship with someone with a mental illness. I can’t ask my friends to set me up with one of their female friends because I think that my own friends view me as being damaged goods that they wouldn’t want to put onto one of their other friends; it’s that I think my friends view me as not being good enough for their other friends. I know this is probably not true, but the thought lingers.

I wonder what it’s like to not be mentally ill. I sometimes wish I wasn’t mentally ill, but I know that because of my illness I’ve made accomplishments that I otherwise would not have been able to make. It seems that being mentally ill is both a blessing and a curse.