Tuesday
May102005
Update. I'm Too Balanced.
Tuesday, May 10, 2005 at 10:16PM
Strangely, (or not) the really erratic one at work came to me today and asked me what had happened over the last few weeks - what conclusion or understanding I had come to inside myself that has changed how I deal with everything (they've noticed, obviously).
I told her that it's because I've finally adjusted to all the changes in my life in the last year. That I'm careful about what I eat, that I don't drink much these days, that I exercise, that I manage my stress more diligently than I did before. That I view this as just a job and not an end result. That I'm feeling more confident in my job now that I've learned a bit more about what I'm doing. That I've worked out the group dynamics.
And all those things are true.
I just don't mention the other bit. It's a bit stupid and not entirely true to say... "Well, it's the drugs, don'tcha know." ... not because I'm ashamed of this but because of the *weight* those words carry in our society. The importance that others bestow of their own accord upon those simple words.
There is no part of me that cares what other people think about this. James and I talked again about this on the weekend - this is something "the drugged ones" run into all the time - because people treat you differently.
I've had something wrong with me all this time, I have friends that say, "but how could you not know that something was wrong?", but all this time - all these years, at least 15 - no one's treated me differently than they've treated anyone else.
But once those words come out, then suddenly, you are a foreigner, an alien, someone who's no longer in 'control' of themselves. Suddenly, it's hide the butter knives, walk on glass and we are going to blame every moment of every mood of every decision of every comment of every day on YOUR ILLNESS.
It's not the illness that makes it real to everyone else - it's the drugs. To us, it's been real for far too long and the drugs make it, finally, an illness with hope.
The pathetic thing is... what they don't get ... and what you can never explain to them is - I'm not ill. I WAS. Now, I'm NORMAL. I'm not happy because I'm DRUGGED. I'm happy because this is WHO I AM, who I always should have been and that person you've known all these years was the chemically imbalanced, uncontrolled one.
They've got it all backwards.
And they are *so* missing out on something great that's been years in the finding.
It makes me wonder sometimes why people would be more comfortable with that person than with the real one, why people would rather support the 'crazy' instead of the 'sane'. And then I realize that *that* can of worms is the size of the universe and I'm just one tiny little blade of grass and so I let it go.
Mostly, these days, I just don't have the inclination, the energy, or the time to carry their stuff. This is their perception. This is their judgement.
My doctor tells me yesterday that because of the history behind this - I may very well be one of those people who will never be without these little pills for the rest of my life. We'll try. We'll monitor. But, frankly, does it make me unhappy or scare me to think I might be *happy and normal* for the rest of my life? Uh. No.
So, in the normal course of my days I just keep my mouth shut and stick with the decision that this is one battle I'm going to turn down. The battle I'm not going to pick.
I've got better things to do.
Finally.
I told her that it's because I've finally adjusted to all the changes in my life in the last year. That I'm careful about what I eat, that I don't drink much these days, that I exercise, that I manage my stress more diligently than I did before. That I view this as just a job and not an end result. That I'm feeling more confident in my job now that I've learned a bit more about what I'm doing. That I've worked out the group dynamics.
And all those things are true.
I just don't mention the other bit. It's a bit stupid and not entirely true to say... "Well, it's the drugs, don'tcha know." ... not because I'm ashamed of this but because of the *weight* those words carry in our society. The importance that others bestow of their own accord upon those simple words.
There is no part of me that cares what other people think about this. James and I talked again about this on the weekend - this is something "the drugged ones" run into all the time - because people treat you differently.
I've had something wrong with me all this time, I have friends that say, "but how could you not know that something was wrong?", but all this time - all these years, at least 15 - no one's treated me differently than they've treated anyone else.
But once those words come out, then suddenly, you are a foreigner, an alien, someone who's no longer in 'control' of themselves. Suddenly, it's hide the butter knives, walk on glass and we are going to blame every moment of every mood of every decision of every comment of every day on YOUR ILLNESS.
It's not the illness that makes it real to everyone else - it's the drugs. To us, it's been real for far too long and the drugs make it, finally, an illness with hope.
The pathetic thing is... what they don't get ... and what you can never explain to them is - I'm not ill. I WAS. Now, I'm NORMAL. I'm not happy because I'm DRUGGED. I'm happy because this is WHO I AM, who I always should have been and that person you've known all these years was the chemically imbalanced, uncontrolled one.
They've got it all backwards.
And they are *so* missing out on something great that's been years in the finding.
It makes me wonder sometimes why people would be more comfortable with that person than with the real one, why people would rather support the 'crazy' instead of the 'sane'. And then I realize that *that* can of worms is the size of the universe and I'm just one tiny little blade of grass and so I let it go.
Mostly, these days, I just don't have the inclination, the energy, or the time to carry their stuff. This is their perception. This is their judgement.
My doctor tells me yesterday that because of the history behind this - I may very well be one of those people who will never be without these little pills for the rest of my life. We'll try. We'll monitor. But, frankly, does it make me unhappy or scare me to think I might be *happy and normal* for the rest of my life? Uh. No.
So, in the normal course of my days I just keep my mouth shut and stick with the decision that this is one battle I'm going to turn down. The battle I'm not going to pick.
I've got better things to do.
Finally.
Reader Comments (6)
First response I wanted to give was a hot denial (to a basic supportive comment, a casual britspeak phrase, mark you) - I don't take those things any more; I worked like shit to get off those things, I have a Thing about taking those things, yes, even though I took those things.
Surely you know the loop.
Then I'm all twitchy that I would have responded that way - whose business is it, why am I so hotly defiant about something I needed to do, about something that helped when it s help was very definitely necessary.
And spin on, and spin on, and spin on.
So finally I think that half the problem with What People Think is ... What We Worry That Maybe People Will Think.
Red flag moment.
Same red flag. Again.
Problem is, I didn't learn from it last time.
I also cringed at the people who thought of my illness as wholly mental, and even as a choice. When that couldn't have been further from the truth.
I truly don't care, now. Not anymore. If one person who can honestly and really benefit from my story is reached? Let everyone else think/say/believe what they will. I don't have time, either.
my stepdad's brother is schizophrenic. it wasn't diagnosed or controlled until late in his life. so he was in and out of hospitals, institutions, jail, rehab... you know what his family's response to his problems was (is)? his own brother (not my stepdad) chose to write him off. his own mother doesn't believe he's ill.
and now that Yours Truly is staying here? well, fuck. i'm "just using them"..."it's all in my head"..."bipolar disorder is just a 'word'" (it's two, actually, dumbfuck)... to them, i'm playing some big game of Let's Pretend.
nice. really fucking nice. so now my stepdad is being shat upon by his brother and his mother, and is heading DIVE DIVE DIVE into his own depression.
what the fuck is wrong with his family? why are people such assholes?
btw, now that stepdad is looking out for his sick brother (as best as he's able, considering his brother is three provinces away), his sick brother is doing much better.
because someone takes him seriously and gives a damn.
as for the rest of stepdad's family, they can all go to hell, as far as i'm concerned.
(teehee)
All very well put. :)