Thoughts about the stigmas associated with mental illness

Sorry I haven't been writing on this blog as regularly as I probably should be, but sometimes it's genuinely hard to articulate a lot of my thoughts regarding bpd and life, because there are just so many thoughts running through my head. Today, though, I stumbled across something that one of my friends posted onto her Timeline about mental illness not being real, followed by a short interjection about how mental illness is just a label created by society to keep really special people down and in line with the masses.

Now, I had to set my tablet away to avoid being an outright bitch, because the person who posted this particular piece of stupidity is really a very sweet girl, and she has nothing but kindness and love in her heart for everybody, but HOLY SHEEPSHIT that had to be the most ignorant garbage that's crossed my social media feed in a while.

Unfortunately, this isn't the first time I've heard an opinion like this. Now, I might have dreadlocks, and I may enjoy wearing tie dye and living closer to nature than others, but I cannot get behind the uninformed, conspiracy theorist GARBAGE that floats around regarding some subjects. I'm fucking sorry, but are you saying that people who snap and commit mass murder are just being 'repressed by society'? That it's simple for people struggling with various forms of depression to just be HAPPY if they get away from social constructs and stop taking their medication or attending therapy sessions?

I will say, it's not just hippies who don't believe in mental illness. My dad, for one, is a pretty straightlaced fellow, and he told me to my face that he believes that "(mental illness) is just a lack of self discipline."

Let that just sink in for a second.

Now, for the record, he does recognize like, schizophrenia and whatnot as a legitimate mental health issue. But depression, bipolar disorder, bpd? All just a lack of self control. Which is why he didn't really believe me when I told him about my borderline personality disorder earlier on in the year. He thinks it's a cop out, a way for me to refrain from being responsible for my own actions. He didn't exactly say those words, mind you, but his tone as we talked about it was disbelieving, and he's pretty much glossed over any attempts to communicate about it since then. Thanks, dad, pretty sure I got the message.

I didn't have the heart to tell him about the various contributing factors of BPD, but he pressed on after a minute of awkward silence during our only conversation about it, and I finally relented, informing him that upbringing has a great deal to do with it. He automatically jumped to my mom, because of course anything wrong with me has to have been caused by my mother's abandoning me. While admittedly that was an intense emotional rollercoaster in my life, a lot of my behaviors and insecurities have to do with his presence, not her lack of one. I love my dad, I really do, but there were things that he wasn't prepared for as a single dad to a girl, that he probably should have been.

Family And BPD

I've always been told by members of my family that I am too emotional. "drama queen" is perhaps my least favorite label that they have bestowed upon me in the past, with "over sensitive" being a runner up. And they won't say that I'm lazy, but I "don't like to work."

These judgments may seem miniscule to them, but goddamn do they hurt. I've had quite a few jobs that I've loved, that I've bent over backwards for. Intense periods of depression and anxiety aren't exactly a walk in the park. Every time I'm confronted with a task in the workplace, I get really nervous. I star over analyzing my performance as I go along; Am I working within the time parameters set for me? If there are no set parameters, do I feel like I'm working quickly enough? Probably not. But if I speed up, I risk not performing the task to the best of my ability. It's a constant struggle with my brain, my need to please people is overwhelming and the equally as overwhelming self doubt that constantly plagues me sometimes leaves me so frustrated that I just want to break down and cry.

Today, I logged into my facebook to find that my Aunt had liked two of my statuses and commented on them both. I was pleased, thought maybe that she was offering me some positive words of wisdom, as older folks sometimes do. Instead, what I found were two different personal attacks on me, one about my 'dreadful' hair (which I suppose was meant as a joke, since my hair is dreadlocked) and the other was about my ear gauges, which I'd recently upped a size, and about how I "keep wrecking my natural symmetry."

Now, I get that my aunt is part of the older generation, and she doesn't quite understand things like dreadlocks and piercings, but how can she not understand how hurtful her words are? I called her out on it, told her that she was being kind of mean and essentially that she needed to back off, and am still waiting for a response. I'm betting it will be something about how it was a joke and that I shouldn't be so sensitive. That's the catch, though, my borderline personality disorder makes me sensitive to things like rejection, and for her to reject my physical appearance and preferences in body modification, it feels like she's rejecting ME. It feels like, as I am, I'm never enough for my family. They're always going to want me to brush out my dreadlocks, stop getting tattoos and piercings, and lead a 'normal' life. The more they berate me over my decisions, over the things that increase my overall happiness, the worse I feel about myself. Sometimes I wonder if they think hurting me like this will make me 'fix' what I have 'ruined' about myself in their eyes.

Family isn't supposed to make you feel like this. Family is supposed to lift you up, support your decisions unless you're doing some really fucked up stuff. Family isn't supposed to help you hate yourself. I'm so disappointed in the people I share blood with right now....