Category Archives: My bipolar world

Am I being bipolar, ‘normal’ or just lazy?

From the forums, other blogs and articles I read, I think many a bipolar diagnosed person asks themselves this question. I certainly do, every bloody day. Since all the major changes in my life happened, it’s like I can’t quite seem to pull myself together.

The first month or so after my move it didn’t really matter, because I was okay financially, and I was happy to take the time I needed to recuperate, sort out my living arrangements and set up my business. My deadline was 2 May, because we had a lot of public and school holidays here in April. Until then I wouldn’t really care sleeping until noon (or past it) and just doing a little bit of work every day. And now, after the deadline came and went?

I gave up my 50mg Seroquel for sleep a few weeks ago and while sleeping was obviously hard in the beginning, now I don’t struggle so much and I can actually wake up at 8:00 or so. The problem is, I don’t WANT to. It’s way past noon on a Thursday and I am actually embarrassed to admit that I am still in my pyjamas. I have to start actively promoting my business which means handing out flyers and phoning people, but I just can’t do it. I am completely overwhelmed by the idea of interacting with strangers. Yet, on the other hand I am freaking out because I kind of need to start making money soon.

I’m pretty sure that the ‘oh crap what if this fails and I lose everything?’ part is ‘normal’. I’m sure that, for an introvert, anxiety about putting yourself out there and talking to strangers is ‘normal’ too. But what about the complete mental block? And feeling like I can’t breathe at the mere thought? What about the refusal each morning to wake up, shower and leave my house? Despite the fact that I (think) I WANT to work and stop feeling like I’m a lazy, unambitious, blob of a person doing nothing and going nowhere in life?

And the guilt, OH the guilt! I do nothing, yet I feeling incredibly guilty about it, so I totally beat myself up about being lazy, but it doesn’t make me get up and moving. So do I cut myself some slack and spend the day in bed without feeling guilty, or do I pick myself up by my bootstraps and just freakin get over it?

Am I being bipolar or lazy? That is forever the question.

Big wave, little wave

*trigger warning* This post contains mentions of suicide.

Greetings  blogosphere and interwebs in general. I’ve delayed writing a bit because you see, a lot can happen in a year. Also because bipolar folk are notoriously unreliable when we hit an episode. It’s really not our fault.

As for me, I won’t share all the details because it will be much too long and I don’t think it will necessarily be helpful to anyone. So just in short, in the past roughly 10 months, I did a stint in clinic because I was suicidal, then thought I was fine. Then, mostly unbeknown to myself, depression became a mixed episode and my life and my brain became all kinds of fucked-up (I will gladly share details if someone wants to PM me), then I did actually try to commit suicide, failed/was stopped, spent 5 days in ICU, went through the aftermath with the people in my life (this was by far worse than anything else). If you want to kill yourself you better make damn sure you die. That being said, now I’m kinda glad I didn’t. Most of the time.

Anyway, then my life fell apart. I had to take unpaid leave from work and left the city to stay with my parents in my home town and receive intense therapy. My doc also put me, and here is the important part of the post, Lithium. It took some time and a whole lot of blood tests to get the dose right, but it pulled me out of my very deep hole. I won’t lie, Lithium has its stigma for a reason and its side effects are horrendous. Apart from the common shakes and dry mouth, there is hair loss, stomach cramps, vertigo, unbearable thirst, acne, possibility of kidney and thyroid problems and probably some others. But how does it look on a practical level? It means if I don’t carry water with me all the time, I get incredibly agitated from thirst. I can’t apply eyeliner or do any detailed kind of work with my hands. My writing is even worse than it was. Some days my stomach cramps so much or I get such bad vertigo that I have to lie down. No matter what I do, my skin looks terrible. But to me the worse is probably the hair loss. I have thick and long hair and it’s EVERYWHERE. I shed worse than my cats and it frustrates me to no end. These side effects make me feel very sorry for myself.

So why take it if it’s so horrible? Because the 1 pro far outweighs the many cons: It keeps me from wanting to kill myself. It’s as simple as that, and the no. 1 reasons doctors prescribe Lithium despite its side effects. I’m still not on ‘normal’ between hypomanic and depressed, but I’ve only have little waves, not big waves. And this has been with a whole bunch of crap happening in between. I quit my job, left the city to move back home, had to find my own place, my father passed away and I’m starting my own business. It hasn’t always been easy, and there has been plenty of days spent in bed or in front of the TV, but I’m managing.

While most of this is largely thanks to Lithium, I am also on Wellbutrin, Venlor and a very small dose of Seroquel. I’ve also basically stopped drinking and have a good exercise routine. I’m not under big city stress (like traffic), and I am not in an extremely deadline driven industry. I try to at least do one big task/errand a day. All these things help too. I still need to get into a better routine and do something about my diet (currently I have only bread, cheese and a bunch of sauces in my fridge).

I curse the fact that I have to live with these side-effects every single day. I get very angry that people don’t see it and therefore don’t know what I’m going through. I feel embarrassed when someone sees my food fall off my fork because my tremour is so bad. But then I get over it and remember where I could have been. How I almost drowned in the storm of my own mind. And I ride my little waves, that no one even sees, like a pro.

 

*If you or someone you know need support, please call the suicide prevention hotline in your area immediately, or reach out to someone you trust. Threats of suicide should ALWAYS be take seriously.*

Picture the sun

After a year I think I am ready and in the mood (ha) this blog up again. Maybe for no other reason than that I need to. I need to write about my experiences and about what is going on in my head. I need to not care what people think when they read it, and focus on the good it can do myself and potentially other. An I miss writing, to be honest. Even if the only thing I’m writing about is myself and my mental illness.

But before I launch into what you’ve missed over the past year, here is the tattoo that I finally got that was originally inspired by when I started this this blog and chose it’s title. Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?!tattoo

Celebrating small victories in the midst of depression

When I’m depressed, I become obsessed about being depressed. So instead of actually doing my job, I spent the day on bipolar blogs and forums, finding comfort in shared pain.

I read a post somewhere (wish I could link to that blog, but I really can’t remember where I read it) about ‘how to get out of bed in the morning when you’re depressed’ and the person talked about a technique that I thought could be very useful: taking life one baby step at a time, while giving yourself the freedom to back out at any time. The person talked about how, when she woke up, she would convince herself that life is better once she’s had coffee, so she might as well get up and have coffee. Then she would tell herself that she doesn’t have to go to work, but that having a shower will make her feel refreshed. And then that she doesn’t have to go to work, but she likes to listen to music while she’s taking a drive. And so on until she would eventually get herself to work. The trick is to stay in motion. For someone going through paralysing depression, just getting to work is actually a huge accomplishment.

Today I was suppose to go to a Pilates class; one I know is pretty intense; but I felt so crap all day that I didn’t want to move, never mind do Pilates. I so badly wanted to be alone on my couch eating chocolate and staring at the ceiling. Under normal circumstances it takes a huge amount of effort to get myself to exercise. When I’m depressed it’s practically impossible. If I can’t get myself to go dance, I am certainly not able to get myself inside a gym. So I approached the situation with the same mindset. After work just get yourself to the gym. Just take your card and swipe your access card. Turn right around if you want to. So I did that. Once inside, I said to myself, just put on your gym clothes. You’ve got your bag here, just get dressed and leave. By the time I was dressed I thought, might as well spend 5mins on the bike (the only form of gym cardio I actually enjoy). Five minutes turned into 20 and I was actually disappointed that my time was up just as I was half way through my second game of solitaire (machines these days, incredible).

While lying in the fetus position bawling my eyes out not a few hours ago (what is it with the fetus position that it is so comforting?), feeling pain take over my whole body and soul, I reflected on this. Look, I barely broke a sweat. I wasn’t even out of breath. I didn’t make it to Pilates. But I was there. I showed up. I kept moving and for 20mins of my day, I actually felt a bit better. In my brain I know that it was actually a victory. In my brain I know that I should be proud of myself, because putting one foot in front of the other is an achievement when you’re depressed. I rewarded myself with that chocolate I was waiting for all day.

I still feel like shite. What it feels like when your emotional pain is so intense that you actually feel it in your whole body is something I can’t explain. I don’t know if the same technique is going to work to get myself to work tomorrow. Maybe I’ll be fine by tomorrow (I’m starting to suspect that I might be the rapid cycling kind). At least I know that today I did something. And that’s a small victory worth celebrating.

Getting over it and back: The first (practical) signs of depression

Happy belated new year to the troopers actually still willing to read my sporadic ramblings.

For me it’s mostly been a good one. I’ve realised that blogging, for me, is like praying (which is wrong on so many levels); when life is good, there really isn’t much to say (except for the occasional ‘thank you’), but it’s when things start going pear shaped that we (I) feel the need to reach out, express what I’m feeling or not feeling, look for understanding and kindness and someone to say that it will all be okay.

The last two weeks of December I found myself in a remote location on holiday with no working electronics to speak of, and no electricity for the most part. This recharged me like I couldn’t have imagined. It really put life into perspective and brought about peace that I had not felt in a long time. But then we get back to reality and have to face the world and we fall back into old habits and hangups.

As I mentioned in my last post, my psychiatrist told me to just ‘get over’ this little, ‘mild’ bipolar problem of mine. So I decided, skrew you, I will do exactly that. Which also means that I won’t see you again and not that it really matters, but you will lose my money so HA. I did give it an actual try though. My meds were working in their higher doses and I felt fine. So I decided no psychiatrists, support groups, blogs, forums, no nothing. Just taking my pills morning and night without thinking about it. And it actually worked, sort of. I really wasn’t giving much thought to this little ‘like high blood pressure’ problem of mine. I would talk about it freely with those who asked, but in a detached manner, like it was just something part of my past.

So I was almost two months in with this and it worked pretty well. In the meantime I met a very nice man, who it then didn’t work out with (men hey…). But shame, it’s not his fault that I’m depressed now. Maybe just a little bit. But I think it started a week or so before we broke up. Today I was extremely irritated and even a bit bitchy. I had one of those days where you just want to lash out and scream. And while I was lying in the bath tonight, while I was actually suppose to be at a dance lesson, it hit me. I am depressed. Not suicidally depressed, but it’s definitely there lurking underneath the surface. And I realised it’s been 3 to 4 weeks. And I wasn’t surprised as it seems like my period of calm is two months. It never lasts longer than that. Being older and wiser and being better at recognising things for what they are, instead of thinking it’s all in my head, I can now see some of my early signs of depression, which I will gladly share with y’alls.

The conversations in my head sound roughly like this:

  • ‘I am so bored. My work is so totally unstimulating, I can do it in my sleep.’ Followed by job searches.
  • ‘Once <insert event here> is over, I’m going to start tapering off my meds. I don’t FEEL anything anymore’.
  • ‘I have become such a boring person. Where is my sense of humour?’ (misses hypomania)
  • ‘Why bother getting up early when no one even cares if I’m an hour late for work.’
  • ‘There is a fat man standing on my chest.’
  • ‘I know it’s not really true but today it feels like life isn’t worth living’.
  • ‘Chocolate! I need chocolate!’
  • ‘I’m so fat!’
  • ‘Fuck I hate pms! This is the worse in my entire life!’ Followed by the realisation that I will only be having pms in a week or two.
  • ‘Take me back to the clinic where I can sleep all day and people feed me.’ Followed by looking at the clinic’s website and reminiscing.

Other signs include:

  • Easily sleeping 12 hours, being awake for about 7, and then sleeping another 12.
  • Drinking to get drunk.
  • Throwing all my good quit smoking resolutions out the door.
  • Being permanently irritated with my colleagues (but in my defense, some of them are chronically annoying)
  • Spending most of my time either watching series or staring at the roof.
  • Feeling like I have achieved nothing in my life and that I will die alone.
  • Guiltily stuffing my face, in a way that feels like I’m punishing myself.
  • Not showering over weekends.
  • Having unreasonable fits of rage or feeling like a friend/family member is out to get me or hurting me on purpose.
  • Obsessively worrying about something or someone.
  • Being totally unreasonable in general.

You get all those websites that list a bunch of symptoms about sleep and appetite and not enjoying things, but what I have listed above is what it FEELS like. The practicalities of it.

Luckily I have caught myself before things got out of hand. As always when I go through some kind of mood episode, I’m almost crippled by the thought that it isn’t the first and it won’t be the last. And frustrated that the medication that worked so well a few weeks ago has seemingly stopped working. And of course the horror of imagining riding out a depressive episode.

But chin up! This is still quite manageable. I compiled a shortlist of psychiatrists to research and luckily there is a support group next week. I don’t feel it, because I feel nothing but dread and horror, but cognitively I know that I can be proud of myself for spotting the signs early.

Getting over my ‘mild bipolar’

After having my meds adjusted last week, I went to see the pdoc again today. Changing from Geodon to Seroquel was not so easy, despite the fact that the pdoc said there should be no problem. For two days I was shaky, dizzy, anxious, couldn’t work and could barely sit up straight. (As an aside, no matter who says what, cold turkey is never a good idea. Taper taper taper.) This little experience has taught me to always listen to my own body before listening to the voices around me. Also that Seroquel is the unfortunate answer to my little hypomanic problems.

So back to today, bawling my eyes out because I am just too tired to face another day and then being told by my pdoc that I really focus too much on this whole bipolar thing. Mine is only mild and more on the depressive side (like depression is not excruciating) and at least I don’t have bipolar 1. And he sees loads of fucked people (his words), and I am not one of them. I am actually doing well. Now I can’t really argue with that, because I am not locked up in a state mental health facility chained to a bed. So yes, life could be a lot worse. But does that make what I am experiencing here, now, any less real, or earth shattering for me? No. In my frame of reference, this might not be the worse it’s been, but it’s getting pretty close. I’m not necessarily as depressed (touch wood), but my little trip into hypomania was almost as bad as it was when I was first diagnosed. So for me I’m pretty close to rock bottom. A more self-aware semi-rock bottom, but still. And maybe my rock bottom might not be as low as someone else’s, but it’s still pretty shitty.

Look, the man makes valid points. I know he says it to me like it is and not what I want to hear. And I know I can be a bit neurotic. But on the one hand you have people telling you to be kind to yourself, love yourself, take it easy, and on the other hand you have people telling you to put on your big girl panties and get over it. Life is hard and it’s unfair. I think this is what makes the journey so lonely; you can’t really win either way. People will always give you contradictory messages. You can’t compare experiences. And in the end you go back to it just being you. Not sharing what’s going on in your head and heart. You are still isolated, because none of us can truly understand what another person is going through, whatever it is. So we’re all lonely little beings wondering this planet by ourselves. Life is all we have, says the doc. Nothing, and no one else, really. Thanks for the good cheer, doc. That’s exactly what a depressed person wants to hear.

Yes, I have a lot to be grateful for. But that’s the problem with depression, isn’t is? There are no feelings of joy. Cognitively, yes, I get it. A part of my brain tells me what these emotions should be. But on the inside? I don’t feel it with my soul. There I feel only apathy, with bouts of anger. Mostly, I’m just tired.

The bipolar roller coaster

A friend of mine who also suffers from bipolar disorder recently got an absolutely gorgeous tattoo of a roller coaster on her back (of which I am extremely jealous). (She also writes a blog definitely worth reading and much more eloquent and witty than my own) I just realised again today what an appropriate symbol of bipolar disorder a roller coaster is. Just three days ago, and for two or three weeks before that, I was in a completely state of self destruction and hysteria, mixed up with some calm for blissful half hours here and there. I honestly didn’t know how I was going to make it out the other side. The walls around me were not caving in, I was actually pushing them out, and I didn’t know how to stop myself.

What had brought me there? Switching anti-psychotics? Family drama? Recovering from my grandfather’s death? Work pressure? Romantic disappointment?  Probably all of the above to some degree. Especially since it all happened more or less at the same time. And today, not three days after a long series of gut wrenching mini-meltdowns, barely picking myself up each time, I seem to have turned a corner. I had a beautiful calm day, hanging out with friends, going to the beach with the dogs and having pizza and wine. I’m chilled. It was a good day. I didn’t even have to take an Alzam (for anxiety).

So what brought about this turning point in the epic roller coaster that is my bipolar life? The higher doses of Geodon (anti-psychotic) and Epitec (mood stabiliser) kicking in? The calming effect that the Alzams have had on me over the last few days? Getting a good 12 hours of chemically induced sleep last night? Reevaluating my life and realising things were getting out of hand? Having people pray for me? Trying to channel my energy constructively instead of destructively (I even wrote a song!)? Probably all of the above to some degree.

That’s what makes it so tough, isn’t it? Trying to isolate the variables is useless. There is no real knowing what causes what and what different things will trigger or what will bring you back from the edge. When I went off Seroquel and onto Geodon I was extremely hypomanic for about a week. I went away with friends and they kept saying that they’d never seen me that happy. It was true, I was having the weekend of my life. The weekend after that, I had a family weekend and stayed up until dawn two nights in a row. But what goes up most come down (except for Jesus, as my Sunday school teacher friend pointed out), or sideways, or upside down, or through a tunnel, or to some extreme state, if your roller coaster is a bipolar one.

I’ve always known that I just have to ride it out. It becomes the difference between yourself and suicide, the knowledge that it will pass eventually. What I’ve learned this time is that I CAN ride it out, with the right medication, rest, and support from people who understand and/or who care about me. People who just let me be a pretty fucked up version of myself without judging me. I don’t think it will ever be easy. It’s an illness after all, and a pretty terrible one, lets be real. It’s not suppose to be easy. But what I realise when I go through this ever so often is that I am stronger than I even know. I could probably rule a small country by myself. Be it by the grace of God or sheer willpower, I am a ninja, and every time I come back and kick life’s ass, I can confidently give it the finger and say ‘there, you lost again sucker!’ That doesn’t mean that it won’t take some time for me to nurse my wounds and recover emotionally from this ride to the depths of darkness and back. My soul, and my pride, is a bit bruised. After all, I hate roller coasters.

 

When a handful of pills a day doesn’t keep the bipolar at bay

This is a repost from almost ago. I haven’t been very bloggy this year. I got bored I think. Or lazy rather. I respost this because the more things change, the more they stay the same. I’m not experiencing anger right now, but excruciating emotional pain. And I feel so sad for myself that despite everything I am back here again, just like every year this time. Because bipolar cycles. That’s what it does. I feel like I’ll never win. And even though I have a wonderful support system, deep down I am truly alone (sorry friends reading here. You mean well and I love you for it. But it is true)

~~~

One of the many fun things about having bipolar disorder is that sometimes, no matter how diligently you take your meds, work out, eat healthy etc, you still go some shade of crazy. And I’ve had many things recently to go crazy about.

At the moment I’ve reached an anger. An anger about the fact that I take 10 prescription pills a day, which equates to 280 pills a month, spend loads of money to take the ones that don’t turn me into an overweight zombie, and am still cycling all over the place. I’ve reached a point where I wonder if it is even worth taking all these pills that make me dizzy and sleepy and mess with my digestive system and make my eyes go funny. There are those who say that if I wasn’t taking my meds, things would probably be much worse for me, and yes, that is most certainly a possibility, but there’s no way of knowing is there. I’m never stable for more than two months at a time anyway. The only reason I haven’t stopped taking my meds is because, if things go pear shaped, I have to start all over again, starting on low doses and working my way up and through side effects. I just can’t take it anymore.

I’m not suicidal, I’m not depressed, but worse than that I am in this hypomanic limbo where I am stable enough to somehow manage my daily life, but not stable enough to not fall apart every night when I get home from work. I feel a constant need to lash out. And no, kick boxing won’t do the trick. Exercising sometimes makes me worse, because I get more worked up from more adrenaline. I can’t listen to music either. I can’t focus enough to read and I certainly shouldn’t be drinking. I can’t live on Alzams because I’ll definitely get addicted. So far changing medication, again, seems to have little effect. Life keeps throwing shit at me, as life does with everyone. So what am I suppose to do? Bitch into cyberspace? Not many other options it seems.

I feel like the medication is messing with my reactions. I don’t even know how I would react off medication. Since I was diagnosed two years ago I haven’t gone off them. My whole life has become about getting the chemical cocktail in my head right. What kind of life is that? I want to be able to freak out and feel like everyone else. And even though I think all these things, deep down in my little heart I can hear myself, and everyone around me, preaching to me “it’s an illness, like diabetes”, “you can’t go without medication”, “things would be worse if you weren’t on medication”, “just ride it out”, “don’t lose perspective”, “things will look up again”, “stop focusing on the negative”, “don’t be such a martyr (that’s my own voice)”.

My response to all these little nuggets of wisdom?

Skrew it, thank you very much.

What to do when in bipolar crisis?

*warning, slightly ‘disturbing’ content. Don’t go do this at home. Get help before it’s too late*

There is a reason that there is a question mark after that heading, because I don’t know. I feel that saying I’m in crisis is a good way to sum it up. Last night I had an amazing eve at a concert, but about half way through I couldn’t wait to get home to cut myself. I don’t do it very often, but after going through very stressful events over the last couple of weeks, I have become slightly unhinged. I don’t cut deep, but I cut lots. I vowed to not do it again, but last night I decided, skrew it. My main issue that I don’t know how to let go of the feelings in me that I have no way of verbalising. So I cut, because it distracts me and makes physical a pain that I don’t know how to process emotionally. It’s not like something hectic happened yesterday, I was just feeling strange on the inside. I took something to calm me down but it had the weird effect of making me completely rational and calm about what I was doing. Luckily I couldn’t find a knife sharp enough in my house to do damage, but usually a razor blade does the trick. Please note that I was not trying to commit suicide and know that what I do is not a healthy way to come. At the moment it feels like I’m only coping in unhealthy ways.

I then did something strange that I hadn’t done before. I pulled out a notebook and started drawing and writing with my blood. It didn’t seem so weird at the time, I mean it’s something that artsy people would totally do. I’m still not so sure if it’s really that weird. But I thought about my friends and I know that none of them would ever do something like that, so maybe it’s not such a cool thing to do. Like I say I was really calm, and then I started panicking. I was also fondly thinking of the time I was hospitalised because I’m tired, not of living but of putting effort into life. So I phoned the emergency room, where the very nice nurse on call told me that they cannot admit psychiatric patient without referral but I can gladly come sit with her for the rest of the night. Since I was in no state to drive, she phoned me every two hours for the rest of the night to check that I was okay. There are still good, caring people in this world.

I wish I could say the same of my pdoc. He knows I never bother him and this was the first time I felt that I had a real emergency on my hands, and he always says to call him any time, until I do. Granted in the middle of the night is not a good time, but the nurse insisted that I phone him for a referral but he was very pissed off. This morning I tried to get an appointment or at least a call. He eventually phoned me back and said ‘I don’t know what you want me to do, it doesn’t sound medical, I’m fully booked. You were never on that high a dose of anti-psychs anyway (I recently changed medication, enter fuckup). So I said I was going to increase my dose and hung up. I’ve decided to now, with the help of a more experienced friend, take matters into my own hands, because what am I suppose to do? We literally pay these people R1 000s for consultations and anywhere from R2 000 for meds, and they’re just not there when we need them. Like having an illness all the time isn’t bad enough. I’ve reached a level of maturity where I can (sometimes) recognise that I am sick and try to get help, and then there is no help to be given. Luckily I have a good support system or I don’t know what I’d do.

What do you do when the crazies hit (which seems to always happen in the middle of the night) to get you to day break?

The Oscar Pistorius trial, mental health and the ignorance of the masses

I actually can’t believe that I am writing about Oscar Pistorius and his trial. I have been avoiding any reports on it because the way people have been treating it as entertainment is enough to enrage me. Unfortunately it’s been nearly impossible as everywhere you go it’s on TV, radio, front pages of magazines and newspapers, twitter, facebook and in every conversation. If you’re not South African, you can read all about the trial online if you want to. However, this post is not about the actual trial. It’s about him going for psychiatric observation and people’s reaction to it. And basically me ranting over how stupid people can be.

Some background: About a month ago Oscar went for psychiatric observation to determine whether he suffers from a mental illness, specifically GAD (Generalised Anxiety Disorder) and whether or no he could distinguish right from wrong. The report came in and it was determined that Oscar did not suffer from mental illness at the time. However, what most people neglect to add when they talk about this around the water cooler is that after the incidence he suffers from PTSD and is of committing suicide.

Let me just state up front that I am not condoning murder. What he did was WRONG, no matter how you look at it. What gets to me is how people are now saying, “Ja so he’s not mad hey! chuckle chuckle chuckle” and “apparently he’s going to kill himself now, chuckle chuckle chuckle.” I know I am over sensitive when it comes to issues surrounding mental health. I find these kind of statements incredibly upsetting and insensitive. I suffer from mental illness after all and the only one allowed to call me mad, is ME. Suicide is serious. PTSD is serious. Murder is serious. Human suffering, even when broadcast onto international television, is REAL. What these statements demonstrate is that the masses, your average person, still thinks that mental illness is not real. That it is a joke and something reserved for the crazies in institutions who have to wear straitjackets and have to be locked in padded rooms. They see it as something removed from themselves, while they are surrounded by people suffering from mental illness every day.

On the one hand I feel like I need to speak up when I hear things like this being said, but on the other hand, what is the point of fighting a losing battle, at work, with people who are too set in their ways to change their minds and of then opening myself up to being talked about in the same way? It just blows my mind that people can still be so ignorant in this day and age. I sometimes feel like I’m just screaming this silent scream over and over again.

Any thoughts on how to tackle this problem?