#because if i just listened to my weasel-brained mental illnesses

[not-poignant]

11 & 15 :)

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

(Note: This one has several unpopular opinions re: authors rewriting fics in particular, so please just...do not keep reading if you've ever rewritten a story you've released on AO3 or rewritten a serial or something, because like, slakdfjas how I feel about what I do has nothing to do with how other people do their stuff, lol).

Hmm.

Okay, yes, I do have a darling graveyard. In total, since I started writing as a kid, I've shelved about 5-6 completed novels. Maybe more. I didn't do it while actively writing them, I finished them, really believed in them, and one day reread them and realised they would stay on my hard-drive. That's fine. I don't really grieve them. Some I feel nothing for. In fact not having many feelings about the story was one of the reasons I shelved it.

I am not, otherwise, a very brutal 'kill your darlings' person. I'm a big believer in restorative methods and problem solving. For anyone who is familiar with Clifton Strengths, Restorative is in my top 10. I would rather fix or mend something, than shelve it or give up on it, and that part of my personality is a perfect match with writing an ongoing serial.

Here's the thing, I write most of my serials in an ongoing way with no plan. If I abandon the serial, I abandon my readers who are invested in the serial. That's a very different process to writing a novel that no one else except maybe an editor or beta is seeing.

I have to be - imho - from an integrity perspective, accountable to the process. And the process demands that I not pull a serial halfway through and then replace it with something new or not replace it at all. Firstly, there will be readers who always prefer the first version, and that shafts them. And secondly, it is almost always possible to mend a story, or write yourself out of a cul de sac. I enjoy the problem solving, I enjoy thinking on my feet, and the moments of being blocked because I broke something in the story are vastly outweighed by the times I unblocked and let the river flow again.

This is also why when I edit Game Theory, I'll always leave the original on AO3. It's also why I haven't deleted fanfic I'm actually pretty ashamed of and couldn't reread again. Like I have het Glee fanfiction on my not_poignant account and I never want to read it again. I'm not deleting it. I'm not going to shelve it. People gave it kudos, they bookmarked it, and I don't know those people and I know they can read something better, but once it's up, I am accountable to that visibility. I know what it feels like to go back and read that one special fic that for some reason you just really love, only to find out it's been deleted. And yes, we can always download stories, but I can also just choose not to be a dickhead to my readers in that fashion, so I won't.

Putting the rest under a cut because well there's more but also I might be very Unpopular Opinion about this and I feel pretty strongly about it.

(There are of course valid reasons people delete their stories, like, 'this username is connected to my legal name and I'll get fired if these stories are found' (though they can always be orphaned / made anonymous), but 'I hate this story' to me is just... /thinks/ I don't really want to let my mental illness win or be more important than the folks who might really love that one story and find something important in it. That's just.... how I think about it - if I can make sure another reader never feels that kneejerk broken-hearted feeling of having a favourite fic deleted, even just a dumb little Glee fic that's terrible, then like, yeah I won't make them feel that way just because I feel something like shame or disappointment in something. Because I have the power to also not think about those stories and then it doesn't affect me lmao).

I always have very mixed feelings when authors remove or completely rewrite a fanfic for example on AO3 - it is obviously completely their right, I feel really sad on behalf of every reader who will forever miss that original version. And as a reader, I've had this happen to me. An author has removed or rewritten a story, and I just loved the original more. I've never loved a rewritten version of a fic more than the original version. Not once. Not ever. Some of us preferred the more raw and ugly version, that was less like a generic novel and felt less like 'I've learned how to publish books now so I'm going to polish this up even though that's not why almost any of my readers are here.' And I'm painfully conscious of that re: Game Theory lol.

I guess I have really strong opinions about this. I don't know how to explain it. I feel like once I put something in public, I have pledged a certain amount of loyalty to a story, and a certain amount of respect and dignity to the reader. My loyalty to the story is that I will make it the best it can be in my capacity at the time. My respect and dignity re: the reader is that I will respect their love of the thing, even at the expense of indulging the intrusive thoughts of a mental illness, even if I don't understand how anyone could love the thing.

Shelving a serial isn't really something I want to do, and that's the closest I think I come to 'killing your darlings.' These days, therefore, I'm just a lot more discerning about what long-term projects I commit to before I commit to them. Because once I'm in, I'm all in. I'd rather quit writing entirely than leave a big serial unfinished, delete it, and start something else instead. Like, how bad am I at writing if I can't mend what I broke?

(Again, this isn't how I feel about other people's writing, it's just very important to my process that I be accountable to the story and the characters once I get started. I suspect other authors instead are more accountable to the quality of the writing and in giving their readers the most 'perfect' version of a story ever, or maybe they're just more accountable to that niggling 'I could have done that better' feeling. It manifests in many different ways! My method works best for me, but it is very much tied in with my personal sense of ethics and values that I impose on myself and try and live by.)

As to grieving... There's one novel I really regret shelving the most, but that's because I shelved it for reasons partially outside of my control - it needs an Australian Aboriginal sensitivity reader who is comfortable reading m/m romance with explicit sex. After months and months of searching, I found someone, gave them an upfront $150 USD deposit (about 6 years ago now), with the rest to come later, and they disappeared with my money and never spoke to me again. Ever since then, I have looked occasionally for a sensitivity reader in that area, but I've kind of suspected it's too niche of a thing to need, and I also can't lose that much money again. I've never spent that much on a single marketing budget for Perth Shifters, for example.

That's a standalone Fae Tales novel set in the southern hemisphere, with an entirely new cast, called Tradewinds and I'd really love for y'all to read it, but I sadly don't see it ever happening.

That one I'm really sad about. And I guess I could rewrite it to have zero Aboriginal Australian representation even though it's set in Australia, but like... :/ Y'know? Not ideal. But maybe that's the only way this story can exist, or maybe it just shouldn't exist in the first place. So it's shelved. A very few select people have read it, and everyone who's read it has enjoyed it, but none of those people have been Aboriginal Australian, and you know, I don't want to make some kind of horrendously awful fuck-up so we just... quietly leave that one in its folder and forget it exists most of the time.

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

Mmm, I only write in the margins of some books, and only if they're mine.

I dog-ear my pages, I don't care how expensive or special edition the book is. If it's mine, I can do what I want with it. I see no point in being precious about physical objects, when what matters are the words inside, and not whether the page has a crease in it.

I don't read in the bath because I don't have baths. But also because I want to empty my head in the bath, so I just want to not think about anything at all.

I don't judge people who do any of these things to their own property. I get mad if they do it to my property (basic respect bruh), and I do judge the people who judge me for what I do with my own property. They're in the same category as grammar pedants, imho.

--

From the Weird Writer Asks meme!

[hiddensquid22]

So yesterday, someone reported me to Instagram for concerns about my safety and mental health. I'm fine, no danger to myself whatsoever. But I wanna talk about the experience, and I don't wanna talk about it on insta because I don't want to alienate a person who maybe thought they were doing a good thing. They had the right spirit (I hope, unless my more cynical thoughts are correct).

Firstly- I want to say that if you are ever concerned for someone on instagram, unless they are in immediate danger, maybe consider just talking to them instead of reporting it. Here's why. Assuming the person being reported is using the mobile app, their account will be restricted (unable to see anything, including their own account) but they will not be in any way contacted or notified as to why. It seemed like a bug to me, for seriously like 6hrs! But can you imagine if someone was in danger and then suddenly a form of communication is inexplicably shut off?? In order to regain access to your account, you have to open the site in a browser (which instagram does not inform you of either btw), and are forced to click through some tabs on ways to get support. They include a helpline, which okay that's admirable, but the others are very generic 'reach out to a friend,' 'self soothe in some way' type advice, which certainly has it's place. I just can't imagine this is the kind of thing the person doing the reporting is expecting the reportee to be given.

I personally found the experience to be even more isolating. I was in no way a danger to myself, but the feeling that someone cared enough to report me to a faceless corp, but not enough to just ask me how I am? That made me feel incredibly alone. And then to be followed by advice saying to reach out to friends? The friends who reported me but didn't check on me? That's a real kick in the teeth. And now, well, now I don't want to speak at all about my mental health on there for fear of this happening again. Which, clearly is not a desired outcome of an attempt to help.

Here's the other thing I'm thinking about. I was talking about some symptoms of my ocd. (At least, I assume that's what did it. It could have been the fact that in my top 5 songs of the year, two were a bit depressing. But, doesn't everyone listen to upsetting music on a stupid repeat every now and then?) These are things I live with. Things that I've always lived with. But to other people me talking about them in a remarkably delicate way apparently sounds like I'm going to hurt myself?

I knew ocd was one of the ones that make people uncomfortable when they know some of the grittier realities of it, which I assume is why it's mocked, but I've never personally experienced it. It's a real trip, man. Like idk about you guys, but I never feel like I have a grasp on the severity of my mental illness. How do you quantify something like that? What metric of comparison is there really? (Not that it 100% matters because in this house we don't battle for who suffers most and who handles it best. You're suffering is valid, and resilience is not a moral victory.) But it's wild to think that something I deal with on a daily basis, even on my best days, sounds so terrifying and acute to those that don't experience it. Kinda makes you go, damn, maybe my brain is a filthy liar and I'm not just the biggest wimp alive 🤔 But also makes me feel a bit like [insert 'damn, girl you live like this?' meme]

Anyways, I'm fine. Just got a lot of weasels up in the ol' thinker 👍

[rabbitindisguise]

Sometimes marginalized people are only willing to speak up for themselves if it's a thing that we think it's acceptable to expect people to have already known not to do, rather than learning how to establish healthy boundaries beyond politics. And it's a huge problem.

There's no political reason why I don't like beetles. But I have every right to ask not to be around them, even as a joke. I shouldn't trust that saying I have a phobia or trigger and that it's ableist not to let me avoid it will be more effective in activist spaces than "I just don't like 'em." It puts adverse pressure to disclose trauma or to justify using marginalizations even when it's not relevant. And if someone doesn't agree with your politics and you don't "outrank" them?

Then you're totally fucked and might have to deal with more beetles than if you said nothing at all.

(this is not hypothetical by the way: I have phobias of several things that are far more respected than me establishing a boundary- despite being even harder to avoid- but to do that I have to disclose them (unsafe). I've also had political based disagreements where I genuinely felt something, and caved and said "can you just not around me," and it wasn't enough because I couldn't pull the "but I'm X so I get final say" card. The only people that actually respected my boundaries were used to interacting with problematic people without immediately blacklisting them, aka "bad" activists.)

Purity culture isn't just about the media you're willing to consume. It's also about how you treat others when there's no social pressures forcing you to be nice to them. If you'd hear someone say "I don't like beetles" and dump a box on them because they don't have a phobia, so what's the issue? You don't see why they shouldn't have a box of beetles dumped on them. Look at how fun it is to watch them squirm because of something they explicitly asked you not to do.

Lots of people that endorse purity culture are just plain abusive, through and through. And it's a huge problem. The same problem. We have learned to accommodate brain weasels of fear and distrust over consent in our community norms. I know my PTSD is a coping mechanism for trauma, but it's not one I run my life around. Just because I feel safer with the lights on when I sleep, doesn't mean it makes sense for me to do it during a migraine. Yet the entire social justice community refuses to turn off the light when there's a migraine involved. Our "it might benefit privileged people" is the "we can't let the terrorists win" of our norms. Stubborn and reckless, and not in the cool way.

Stop being a dick to people who voice their needs, and you'll stop fearing they will do the same to you if you're not tirelessly out-debating them with your traumas, mental illness, marginalizations, and woke theory. Sometimes a beetle is just a beetle. And sometimes other people have beetles, or a phobia that they don't want to disclose (because people who will see that as "just a beetle" rather than a serious issue). And you won't know the difference between something fine to joke about and something not fine to joke about if you don't put down the theory and listen for someone to revoke their consent. Allow them to. It's important for you, and for them. Even if they're not marginalized at all. Not necessarily hurting them isn't the same as actively hurting marginalized people.

TL;DR no activism without good consent practices, even when it makes privileged people not actively uncomfortable.

[lynoth715]

Mental Illness Things No One Warns You About:

My mood is reasonable. Not too high, not super low. A bit labile, maybe, but not excessively concerning.

But.

The warning signs are there, if you look. A few days ago I was unusually, almost aggressively, horny. I’ve encountered some trauma triggers in the past few days; it was all handled, but still there. Tonight, my head is very noisy. Not voices, exactly, just...static. Music helps. Drowns it out, helps me focus.

Then I got a notification for a new book. Anthology. Never heard of it, but it’s the third in the series. And the weasels....are demanding that I BUY THEM ALL. Happens to be the press that did another anthology series I’ve been eyeing for a while. The weasels think now is a great time to get all of those, too. After all, there are quite many authors I love in each volume, and it’s for a good cause, right?

Fortunately I have a trusted friend I can check in with. She confirmed that maybe now isn’t the best time to do that. “Cluttered brain does not equal wise choices that future non cluttered brain has to sort out” she says. The weasels are not happy, but currently the meds have me just enough in control to listen to her. 

It’s just. It’s like being beaten to death with feathers, as they say. No one MAJOR CRISIS but a lot of little “uh-oh” moments. And I’m frustrated, because like. I’m doing everything right? Taking my meds and sleeping and all of that. But also I was sick last week and had to take more cold medicine than was probably wise, so. There’s that. 

I don’t know what the point of all this is, or even if there is one. I’m just tired, and frustrated, and annoyed, and. Ugh.

[skam-oh-man]

Call me when you’ve chosen

This is my first ever fan fic so it might not be that great but I still hope you enjoy it! feel free to message me constructive criticism or any prompts you want me to do! I love Elu just as much as you guys so I hope I did them justice!

Follow my page for me Skam content!

Enjoy!

The boy’s laughter snaps Lucas out of his deep thoughts. 

Lately all he could think about was Elliot. Elliot’s hair, Elliot’s smile, the way Elliot’s face crinkled when he laughed; memories of their short affair consumed his brain.

As much as he was mad at him, Lucas really missed hearing his voice.

“Earth to Lucassssss” Yann teased “Sorry… what were you talking about?” “We were talking about how ugly this damn mural is, we should probably start it soon.”

In an attempt to make Lucas feel better, the boys had planned to redo the mural together. It was a nice gesture and he appreciated it but being in the place where Lucas first laid eyes on Elliot and doing something him and Elliot were supposed to do together made his heart ache. 

“yeah yeah, we can start now” Lucas said, lifting himself off the couch.

Lucas shuffled over to the mural, looking up at it sadly

Man, it really was ugly

“Lucas… you know we’re here for you right?” Arthur says as he walks up next to Lucas “I know, thank you” “So then tell us what happened between you and Elliot… it sucks seeing you so sad and we want to help.”

Shit. Lucas thought he was keeping it together better. There’s nothing to sa—” “Bullshit Lucas” Yann interrupts him “Don’t start hiding things again” “I’m a good listener! I don’t know much about gay guys but--” Basille didn’t get to finish his sentence before Arthur clamps his hand over Basilles mouth

Lucas lets out a small giggle at Arthur, turns around to the boys and releases a sigh

“It’s not a big deal okay? Elliot and I kissed in the rain, spent an amazing night together, he told me he broke up with his girlfriend but then I saw them kissing at Chloe’s party so… that’s it. Not a big thing!” “Lucas…. That is a big deal.” Yann says, staring into Lucas’s eyes “I just wish he would stop giving me drawings... just let me move on already.” “Drawings??” Basille asks confused “Is that a gay thing?” Lucas rolls his eyes but continued “he slipped one in my biology textbook this week, saying how much he missed me. I just don’t understand him”

The foyer goes silent for a few minutes. The boys are staring at their hands, trying to come up with a response. Just as the silence gets uncomfortable, Yann breaks it.

“He’s playing with you. I’m not okay with it, call him out! He can’t have a girlfriend and you, he’s gotta choose!” Arthur and Basille nod in agreement “You have to give him a piece of your mind!” Arthur says “call him out? How would I do that?” “text him something like, I’m not interested in guys with girlfriends. You can’t have us both. Call me when you’ve chosen” suggested Yann

Lucas digs for his phone in his pocket. When he unlocks it the conversation (or lack thereof) with Elliot is already up. Lucas had been staring at it since he got Elliot’s last text. He forces his thumbs to type What Yann had mentioned, 

To Elliot: I’m not interested in guys with girlfriends. Sometimes you have to choose. Call me when you’ve figured it out.

He stared at his phone screen for a minute, trying to build up the courage to send it. Knowing that when he sends it there is no going back. Knowing that the decision Elliot makes could change his life for the better or for the worst. Elliot may have hurt him, but this uncertainty was ripping him apart. He pressed the send button and threw the phone on the couch.

“Done. I sent it”

Basille starts to clap but Yann shoots him a look and he stops. Not even 2 minutes later Lucas’s phone chimes. This makes his world stop. Lucas and the boys just stare at it, finally Yann picks it up and hands it to the frozen Lucas

From Elliot: Where are you right now?                   : We need to talk

Lucas reads it out loud. The panic starts to build. “Oh god what do I reply??” “Just say Foyer.” Yann says, smiling a little. “Keep it cold, do not show desperation” Arthur shook his head in agreement, “Yeah, make him panic a little. It always works with the ladies, he’ll call soon.” “I honestly I have no advice… I don’t know anything about women or men apparently” Basille sighs

Not knowing what else to say Lucas types out the text and hits send To Elliot: Foyer. Lucas slips the phone into his back pocket and claps his hands “Alright ladies let’s get started on this mural before I go permanently blind”

It takes them an hour to get the first layer of white on the wall. An hour that dragged on forever. Lucas was constantly checking his phone and the boys were constantly asking if Elliot had called yet? 

“For the fiftieth time guys, no. He has not called, and he is not going to. He’s probably just putting off the fact that he has to tell me he’s not interested, and it was never real for him” Lucas’s voice starts to crack at the end of the sentence “well then he’s an idiot because you’re way better than whatever her name is” Basille says as he wraps his arms around Lucas’s tiny frame, pulling him in for a bear hug. 

For the first time Lucas doesn’t push him off and soon all three of the boys are squeezing him so tight he can hardly breathe. He only pushes them away when he truly can’t breathe anymore, laughing as he weasels his way out of the group hug. His laughing only stops when he turns around.

“Guys…” he says but no one hears him over the laughter. “Guys!” he yells a little louder and they all turn to Lucas, suddenly all laughter stops.

Standing by the doorway was Elliot, gorgeous Elliot. The man who made Lucas’s heart skip a beat and ache all at the same time. He was wearing that brown jacket Lucas loved and his hair was a mess, he loved Elliot’s hair, especially when his hands were in it. Lucas looked down at Elliot’s eyes and noticed the boys usually piercing eyes that gave him butterflies were red and swollen, like he had been crying for a while. 

“Hey” Elliot said quietly “I hope I’m not disturbing anything” “No, actually we were just gonna head out, Arthurs…. Dog got sick” Yann lies “I don’t have a---” Arthur starts before Yann elbows him in the side. “Ohhhh yeah, she’s throwing up everywhere, very gross”

Arthur and Yann gather their things and Basille’s because he can’t stop staring. They practically have to drag him out of the foyer. They’re almost out of earshot when Lucas hears Basille exclaim “Holy shit he’s hot! No homo though!” Now that they’re alone Elliot takes a step towards Lucas, but Lucas takes a step back.

“What are you doing here?” Lucas whispers “I came to talk, I made my cho--” Elliot tries to finish but Lucas cuts him off “Do you even know how bad you hurt me? Did you even think about it? You tell me you broke up with Lucille for me and then tell me you need space?? But you don’t even take space Elliot! You give me drawings and you come up to me in the cafeteria! What kind of games are you trying to play with me?”

Elliot opens his mouth to respond but Lucas keeps going, tears forming in his eyes

“Not only that but you get back together with her! You’re making out with her while I’m being outed by Chloe to the whole school at the same party! Did you ever like me? Or was it fun to see if you could push the closeted kid out of the closet?” 

Lucas finally takes a breath and stops, staring at Elliot waiting for a response. Elliot’s beautiful eyes are staring at the ground, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry” Is all Elliot manages to whisper, eyes still fixed on the ground “I just… I just like you so much, you’re the first person I’ve ever felt these feelings for and knowing you don’t feel the same is… it’s heartbreaking.” Lucas chokes out Elliot’s head snaps up, “Lucas I do feel those same things for you, I do. There’s just a lot you don’t know about me and if you knew…” He pauses “if you knew I’m scared those feelings would disappear.” “The tell me, please just tell me” “Lucas---” “How am I supposed to believe you if you don’t tell me?”

The air is heavy and both boys have tears falling down their cheeks. Elliot is back to looking at the ground now so Lucas steps towards him and gently pushed Elliot’s head up so he can look in his eyes.

“Please tell me Eli, I won’t freak out I swear. I want to know, I think I deserve to know” Elliot leads the younger boy to the couch without a word and sits him down. “Okay I’ll tell you. Just… just don’t say I didn’t warn you okay?” Lucas nods, staring into the handsome boys’ eyes “I’m… bipolar Lucas. I was diagnosed at 15 and I’ve been struggling with it ever since” he says, moving his eyes back to the floor, scared of what the look on Lucas’s face was. “Oh okay” “And the reason I went back to Lucille is because after all these years she’s convinced me that she knows what’s best for me and that I can’t be stable without her… but now I know that’s a lie because… well because I met you.”

Lucas nods, trying to think of something to say but it’s a lot to process. He opens his mouth to say something, but Elliot is still talking

“And I was so happy with you, we kissed, and it was perfect but then you told me you didn’t need mentally ill people in your life, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to be a burden and to be honest it made me sad.” “Elliot!” Lucas exclaims “that is not what I meant at all. My mom is schizophrenic, my dad left me to take care of her by myself when I was 15. I love her a lot but it’s a lot to handle that young. I still talk to her all the time, she just believes so much in god that I don’t want her to hate me for being who I really am. I would’ve told you but when I tell people that they give me the ‘oh you poor little thing’ face and I hate it…” When Lucas stops Elliot lifts his head to look into his eyes. “Really?” “Yes, really. I could never not like you because of something you have no control over. You’re perfect to me” Lucas says, putting his hand into Elliot’s. 

Lucas uses his free hand to wipe the tears from the older boys’ face, running his fingers along his jaw to his chin. Elliot leans his head in, resting his forehead on Lucas’s. All the time keeping their eyes locked.

“Eli, I really like you. Like a lot a lot and it scares me a little, but I want this to work” Lucas says, pressing a kiss to Elliot’s cheek “I like you a lot too LuLu” Elliot says with a smile. The first smile Lucas has seen from him tonight

They lean into a kiss, it’s light at first but get’s deeper with every second. All the angst, the hurt, and all the fear has changes to passion. The kisses get deeper, Lucas slipping his tongue into Elliot’s mouth.

Elliot pushes away, breathing heavily “Can we go back to your place?” “Probably not a great idea, my bedroom is now the living room. How about we go back to yours? Lucas says, giving Elliot a peck on the nose “Lets just stay here then” Elliot grabs the back of Lucas’s neck and pulls him into a deep kiss

They melt into each other on the old couch and even with the springs digging into Lucas’s back all he can think is This is perfect

[theawkwardroseblog-blog]

An open letter about my anxiety

You Know Who You Are:

From as early as I can safely recall—since around the age of five years old—I have known there was something different about me. There is a specific instance where I looked at the neighbor kids playing outside and questioning why things weren’t as great as the way they used to be and missing the times where things were easy and I didn’t have a lot to care about... and I was only around five or six years old. I remember staring out the window as the sun set in the sky and worrying as to whether I would see it rise again the next day, when most children only worried about whether or not they were going to be the line leader or if they had to learn phonics that day. I remember during middle school, around the age of ten or eleven, experiencing these bursts of crippling fear that would leave me paralyzed on the floor in the fetal position—crying, hyperventilating, shaking, and being encompassed by this overall feeling of panic. It was not until high school when I was able to find a proper label for these episodes and overall feelings: anxiety.

[In 2015, this was accurate.. I have been able to be almost completely free of panic attacks for a couple years.] I am diagnosed with Panic Disorder, and I have been told that I have characteristics of Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD). [GAD has since been confirmed, and my Panic Disorder is now in remission.] According to the American Psychiatric Association (APA), the fifth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5) criteria for panic disorder consists as follows:

Unexpected recurring panic attacks consisting of at least four (or more) specified symptoms (shaking, fear of “going crazy,” sweating, shortness of breath, derealization, heart palpitations, nausea, etc.)

A month or more of either or both a) fear of panic attacks or their consequences or b) a “maladaptive change” in behavior (ex: avoiding places due to fear of a panic attack occurring)

In addition, these attacks may not better be explained by the use of a substance, by another mental disorder, or by some other medical condition. In short, GAD is persistent worrying and uncontrollable thoughts of fear. After toying with various forms of medication and cognitive-behavioral methods, I was being treated solely through psychiatric treatment, which has done wonders for managing my disorder along with utilizing the techniques given to me during my time in therapy. As of today, I am actively searching for a new therapist to begin seeing regularly again.

I would like to take the opportunity to address various players within my life who have made an impact on my struggle with mental illness and to use my own story to help eliminate the stigma associated with the diagnosis of a mental illness and receiving treatment. I also intend to address the unrealistic expectations within the medical model because mental illness can only be managed and not “cured.” I do not believe in naming names, for the sake of others’ reputations, but to all of those I implicitly mention: You know who you are.

In terms of background, I used to become especially anxious when it came to meeting a boy’s friends within a relationship. Why? Well, the first time I did—in my first relationship—I was ridiculed and treated like an accessory, and to top it all off: Upon discovering I wanted to go into psychology, one of his friends actually said, and I quote, “Depression is all in a person’s head. They need to just get over it.” [Edit: the person who said that has recently gotten help for depression and is on medication. I am glad you have found your way to receiving help, and I’m sorry you were suffering in denial for so long.] To the skater boy (“she said, ‘see you later, boy’”): thank you. Without you, my anxiety would not have escalated to an all-time high, and I would not have sought out treatment. I was naive at the time: you were my best friend who weaseled his way into being my second relationship. When I refused to leave the house to be isolated with your friends because I was one negative trigger away from having an attack, I realized that something needed to change. Without your harsh verbal and emotional berating as a result of my resistance, I would have not have gotten the help I needed. I would have continued to live my life in fear of having a panic attack, while experiencing one nearly every single day. During a fairly turbulent time within my life, your negative behavior towards me lead to an ultimately positive impact that has changed my life for the better, so once again: thank you. [Edit: This part you just read is immature, but I left it in to demonstrate growth in my journey. This boy was going through problems himself at the time that he had yet to discover, and surprisingly, we ended up being more alike than we would’ve ever guessed. I hope you continue on your path of self-discovery, and hopefully find a working treatment for your bipolar disorder. Before we dated, you helped me through an incredibly tough time in my life and were always there to listen. I will forever be grateful for your friendship.]

To my sister from another family: I would like to address both you and your mom. Thank you for encouraging me to get help from a therapist. Even though you had no idea that I had a mental illness and you only encouraged grief counseling, I would have never overcome my fear of talking to my mom about seeing a professional without you. Thank you for letting me cry in your bathtub on the day I told you about my diagnosis, and thank you for being my rock. I would not be where I am today without you. You are my second family. I love you, and I am so grateful for all that you have done for me.

To my neurotic partner in crime: Thank you for being an overall inspiration to me. I would have never have sought a clinical therapist or psychiatric help if I would have never met you. The fact that you were brave enough to share your story with me and to tell me what helped you when dealing with anxiety has made all the difference within my life. Thank you for showing me the social worker who kept the conversation going and helped me conquer my fear of therapy. Without you, I would not be on the medication that keeps my brain chemistry in check, I would not have experienced cognitive-behavioral therapy, and I would continue to have panic attacks every day. Thank you for all of your advice and love and “popping pills” with me at 11:11 PM every day.

Mom: I never thought you would understand. I lived in fear for so long about going to you for help because of the social stigma surrounding mental illnesses. That infamous day during senior year of high school where I was physically shaking when I texted you about receiving help, I had anxiety about receiving help for my anxiety. I was convinced you would tell me ‘no’ or get mad or refuse to pay for treatment or tell me that it was unnecessary, but you have done exactly the opposite. I am so thankful for your support. Thank you for sitting in on my psychiatry sessions when I was still a minor and being strong when you first heard about all of the horrific symptoms your own child was experiencing. I know you had no idea… No one else did either. I kept it hidden for as long as I could.

There is no shame in receiving treatment for a mental illness. It is no different than any other disease, with the exception that the illness may not be fully recognizable by anyone walking down the street--it can be referred to as an “invisible illness.” I would like to pose a question: Would you criticize a diabetic for monitoring their glucose levels or taking insulin shots? Mental illness is a serious issue. I like to use the diabetic analogy when discussing the course of and treatment for mental illness. With Type 1 diabetes, those diagnosed have visible symptoms from the time of childhood into the rest of their lives, and with Type 2, one is genetically predisposed to potentially develop the disease, but environmental factors can play a role in whether or not the disease actually manifests. Either way, one must monitor their diet and glucose levels, take their insulin shots, and have more routine check-ups than the average person. The same is with mental illness. We cannot simply “get over it” or take a pill and feel normal again. We must use a variety of methods to manage our disease, as well as monitor our diet, exercise habits, and overall life choices. If you would not condemn a diabetic for taking insulin shots to regulate their glucose levels, then why would you condemn someone with major depressive disorder (MDD) for taking Prozac to regulate their levels of serotonin?

I will fully admit that treatment for mental illness is a tricky subject because modern psychology and psychiatry has still not perfected treatment for many disorders. With medication, it can be compared to a “guess and check” form of treatment. For me: “We’ll put you on Zoloft. It’s one of the most prescribed prescription drugs. Oh, you’re depressed now too? Well, let’s switch you to Lexapro. Not working to a maximum capacity? Well, let’s up the dosage and put you on BuSpar as well.” Cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT) in addition is another popular method for those with anxiety to help regulate their maladaptive thoughts and in my case, find strategies to help reduce panic attacks. It is a common form of therapy to help with anxiety and for good reason. CBT focuses on changing the way one thinks in order to improve behavior as well as utilizing various relaxation and exposure techniques in order for people to more efficiently live their lives. CBT has ultimately changed my views on my disorder and has definitely improved my life tenfold.

The medical model aims to “cure” mental illness--take some magic pill or attend some therapy sessions--and everything will be okay, but I am saddened to say that it is not possible. It is wrong to think that mental illness is completely curable. Our diseases can only be managed, and even then, we have potential to relapse. In fact, only one-third of panic disorder patients achieve remission, and one in five diagnosed have unrelenting and chronic life-long symptoms. In addition, according to a study by Dr. Paul Andrews, 49% of patients who take antidepressants are likely to relapse after discontinuing treatment, in comparison to the 25% of those who have never taken medication. There are also many negative side-effects associated with taking antidepressants and attempting to taper off of them after long-term treatment. Instead, the medical model should focus on improving methods of managing the disease in order to go above and beyond the current goal of treatment: allowing clients to function in their everyday lives. We should aim for those diagnosed with mental illnesses to be able to see a brighter future and not have to worry about passing on the disease to their children. They should be able to focus on living their lives, rather than focus on being “functional.”

Another goal we should try to achieve is changing the conversation. One reason why mental illness is so stigmatized is because of the everyday vernacular used by those who are completely uninformed. Mental illness is seen as “lesser” by the rest of society because if someone is unable to find their pencil, they will say they are going to have a “panic attack.” (This was an actual instance I witnessed.) And no, you are not “ADHD” because you got side-tracked during a conversation, you are not “going to kill yourself” because you have two tests tomorrow, and that skinny girl you are referring to is not “anorexic” because of her high metabolism. The words we use carry a lot of meaning and are so important to the social aspect of how others perceive mental illness. If we do something as simple as change the words we use in everyday conversation, we can initiate a wave of change that will eliminate a stigma that affects so many people.

One in five American adults experience a mental illness within their lifetime, and 60% of this population do not receive treatment. I encourage all those who suffer from mental illness to get help because you do not have to suffer in silence. For those who are already diagnosed: speak up. If my “neurotic partner in crime” never discussed her panic attacks with me or if my “sister” never described how much therapy helped her during a tough time, I would have never sought help. We must change the conversation and share our own stories. Mental illness should not be seen as “lesser” than any other disease. If more people speak up, we will call more attention to how serious these diseases are, and more people will get help. I know that I am not alone, and I want all those who suffer to know that they are not either. Stay alive, and stay beautiful.

With love,

Stephanie

Citations for these statistics are in the original essay. This is a very early draft of my story, but here is where I was in 2015, with some future Steph commentary/updates laced in.