What Antidepressants Have Been Doing for Me

I wrote a lot about my decision to start taking Wellbutrin in June, about my fears and hopes surrounding the drug and about the experiences that prompted me to finally seek chemical assistance. I haven't, though, followed up to tell you what it's been like for me to take that pill ever day, what kinds of effects it's had on my emotions and my life.

The easy answer is that it's been awesome and very helpful.

In more detail: taking the medication does in fact make it easier not to sink into the moods I used to fall into so quickly. I can still react to things, I'll still get upset if something is upsetting, but it passes much more quickly. I react, I feel, and then I get over it. Before the meds, a relatively small thing could send me into a funk for days. When a few bad things happened in a row, that was a depressive episode waiting to happen. That feeling of looming despair is almost gone.

I've also only had one migraine since starting these pills. That is remarkable. For a while there, I was getting one every month.

My migraines are incredibly debilitating; I get blind spots, flashing lights, numbness in one or more of my limbs and sometimes my face, complete disorientation, inability to come up with words, splitting headache, dizziness, exhaustion, sensitivity to light and sound, and nausea. I can't work or do much of anything for the first four hours of a migraine, and am sometimes slowed down for days afterwards. So yeah, I'm happy to be having fewer of those.

The pills have also definitely been helping my ADHD. I didn't notice this as much through direct ability to focus better, which is sort of hard to track, but I noticed its lack when I missed a few pills the other week. I forgot, like, four things I was supposed to do for my boss and couldn't concentrate for shit. That's been better now that I'm on top of my meds again.

I've also had no side effects, so altogether I'm a happy camper. It's hard to believe it's taken me so long to take the step, but I know I did it at the right time, in my own time. I can't really ask for more than that.

Medication and Emotion

I started Wellbutrin last Wednesday. I intended to write about it before I got derailed, but I suppose it's better a little late than never.

I felt intensely nervous before my first appointment with the psychiatrist, partly because my experience with the guy who prescribed me Adderall pretty much consisted of "How's it going with the drugs? Good? Here's another prescription. That'll be 65 dollars." I was worried that my new doctor would be as brusque and clinical, and my depression is so much more of a tender subject than my mild ADHD.

Fortunately, he was kind and asked lots of questions, talking to me for about 45 minutes before writing me a prescription. He didn't seem to mind that I'd done a little research ahead of time and he addressed my concerns calmly. Which was definitely a relief.

That said, my feelings about this whole drug thing are a lot more complicated than nervousness over how my doctor will behave. I've been working and working and working to overcome this mood issue for years. It's a struggle that's just a part of my daily reality, that's built into my routines and my self care and my relationships. It's hard to imagine my life without it, or even just with it alleviated a little.

The whole process seems so strange. My doctor explained that after two weeks or so I should physically start to feel better, that my energy will improve and it'll be easier to do things. Then after about a month, my mood should be better, the drug will be in my system and in effect. It's just odd to think of the way I feel emotionally as a symptom that a daily pill can address. It feels like something that's a part of me, and altering it with something I can just swallow is a bit disconcerting.

I'm also terrified to get my hopes up over what's going to happen here. I know that pills are not a complete fix for anything, and I don't really know how I'm going to respond to them. The idea that my friends and sister have given me that it'll be "easier to be okay" sounds unbelievably appealing, but I'm a little afraid to let myself hope. What if it doesn't work? What, then, will I be left with? I know myself and that I'd just move on and try something else, but I've delayed this option for so long, held it in my mind as a fallback, that I know it'll be really hard if it doesn't help me.

I suppose it's ultimately a question of venturing into an unknown. I've always chafed particularly at the beginnings of journeys, the feeling of uncertainty and the knowledge that I'm a novice, as green and fragile as can be. I think one of my biggest challenges as a human being is to embrace that feeling and learn to love not knowing. Moving forward and trying things even though they're scary is a part of that. So onward and upward, and I'll keep y'all filled in on how things progress.

Trouble in Mind

I happen to be listening to Janis Joplin right now and the title of the song playing (now the title of this post) seems appropriate.

I'm starting to meet people in New York to be friends with and hang out with outside of work, finally. I've got new poly and kinky friends, a few really awesome women from my sexuality apprenticeship with Amy Jo who I now feel really close with. I'm getting along well with my roommate finally. (Although technically who knows for how long.)

And yet I still feel listless. I have a million things I want to do (perform in burlesque, maybe, go on a mini-vacation, actually go hang out with some of the new people, bring a slave over to clean and play, work on a short story, clean my room, be an activist again in some way, find the queer community here, whatever) and no motivation or energy to do them. I feel tired all the time. I'm often cranky. I don't enjoy crowds and nights out the way I used to.

In simpler words, I've been really struggling with depression lately, and I've decided it's finally time to do something about it. For years, I rationalized that what my depression (usually dysthymia, sometimes full on major episodes) did was force me to deal with whatever was on my mind. If I had a problem, it'd lay me out flat until I worked through it and solved it. I figured that was a good thing, that it kept me from repressing anything. I thought it made me solve my issues faster.

I'm rethinking that. Something about being out of school and having my life stretched out ahead of me to do with as I choose made me realize that I won't ever run out of problems to solve. It's not like depression is going to make me rush through some finite number of Issues People Have and then I'll be perfect. I'll always have shit to deal with, and if I don't help myself it'll always lay me out and I won't be able to function.

Helping myself, of course, means looking into medication. Another major reason I hadn't done this is that one of the major side effects of SSRIs (Prozac, Zoloft, etc) is a loss of sex drive, inability to orgasm, etc. In other words, a major side effect of these drugs would be the loss of a very important aspect of my life and personality. Kind of defeats the point, no?

I just found out, though, that Wellbutrin is apparently a different kind of drug that doesn't have these side effects. It's also a stimulant so I'd get the added bonus of treating my mild ADHD. My sister is on it, and a friend of mine who values her sexuality as much as I do. I'm thinking this might be a possibility and it would help me feel better.

It's a lovely idea that maybe I'd get to go through life and still have my difficulties and triumphs, but that the littlest thing wouldn't freak me out. It'd be easier to be okay.

I've got an appointment with a psychiatrist at the end of this month at which point I might turn over a new leaf. I'll definitely be writing about this process on here since I know one thing that's majorly helped me is hearing other people's experiences with the drug I'm considering. Wish me luck.

Instability

This is the third year in a row that I've had a sexual dry spell in the fall.

Last fall semester, I had sex only once the whole semester with an old friend who I sort of fell into bed with. The year before that, I also had sex only once between August and December, with an attractive barista who proceeded to treat me disrespectfully afterwards.

Once again, I'm finding myself with the desire for physical touch and affection but without the confidence and comfort I need to go find them. I've got a combo of reasons: the issues with men that I think are obvious from my recent entries, my unrealized feelings for my roommate (which I promise I will write about eventually), and some personal weirdness around my job as a domme.

It's just such a weird trend. I think the consistency of the timing is most related to the fact that I always go through a pretty big move in early fall. This year was particularly big, with the move to New York City, but every other year it's been a transition from San Francisco back to a college whose population has changed (thanks to graduates and dropouts) and where my relationships have altered.

I forget, each time by the time I'm transitioning again, how hard it is for me and how long it takes me to recover from change like that. I want to be someone who can just pick up and do whatever and yes, I survive, but I also don't handle big change well at all. It takes a toll on my comfort level and then on my self esteem. I don't always feel it at first beyond the stress of getting settled physically, but I always see the effects in the end.

I hate being unsettled someplace, having to rebuild my support structure/family of friends. I don't even feel able to meet other people because I'm living in a space of not feeling safe and it's hard to have the charisma or energy to do it. I forget this every time I move, but it's always there and I always have to fight and take a long-ass time to overcome it. I'm ready to be done with it now.

Word Vomit: My Life Since Graduation

I haven't blogged in a while because I've been feeling again like I don't know what to say. A lot has been going on in my internal life, and it's a little hard to pin it all down and have it figured out enough to share it with other people.

Graduating college and moving across the country (again) but this time moving away from upstate New York for good has been kind of hard on me. I'm missing my friends in New York, and I'm missing the two pretty awesome lovers I'd started seeing not long before I left (curse my timing), and I'm missing the admittedly stressful busy life I had there. I'm kind of reeling at the end of my college life, my mode of being for the last four years, and also to a certain extent the end of my childhood. (Or adolescence or whatever.)

I'm feeling the fact that my friends from San Francisco mostly don't actually live here anymore. I'm lonely.

The worst thing right now is that a major reason I came back west at all this summer was to be available to explore the relationship I started with S when I was here over winter break. We've been talking over the internet for months, talking about what we'd do when I got here and making all sorts of loosely imagined plans. I was very excited to see him.

For a variety of reasons, though, he seems not to be making himself available to me, and I don't think he wants to pursue the relationship anymore. Maybe he never did and my expectations were just too high; I don't know. I haven't had a chance to talk to him about it, as I think he may be avoiding me. We've only hung out with other people there. From small hints, though, it seems like he's no longer that interested.

I'm disappointed, to say the least. Even in the last few weeks he'd talked about how excited he was that he'd get to see me soon. I was very much looking forward to actually getting to spend time with him. Yet it just hasn't been happening.

I've gone on a few dates with other people, had a little sex. It's been pretty unfulfilling, and I know it's in the absence of doing anything to take care of my emotions. I don't even really have friends here. I don't have the possibility of a primary relationship, which is what I was so eager to explore with S. It's difficult for this transition to be so different from what I was expecting.

It's really hard for me to admit that I want to be in a relationship, that I want to really get to know someone, that I want to work toward intimacy. It feels so unhip, and I almost feel weak that I can't just put it aside until it's more convenient and enjoy the sex and the eventual friendships for now. As soon as I get anything going, I'll just be leaving again. Seems sort of silly to try and find closeness now, anyway.

My body's not letting me put it off, though; I'm feeling more and more shut down as I try. It's clearly time for me to do something differently.

I've been doing a lot of thinking and my conclusion is this: I'm not in a primary relationship (of any kind) and I want to be. So I need to start acting like that's the truth instead of ignoring it. Time to communicate what I actually need, to be clear with new partners. I want cuddles and talking in low voices and doing things together that aren't sex and comfort and familiarity with body and mind and someone to do things with and a partner in crime and someone to call me on my shit and the ability to fight sometimes and have it be okay. I want to actually get closer. I want love.

Easier said to myself than done. Now I have to say it to other people, prospects, and to encourage it to happen without forcing it. It's all such a delicate balance. I have to find that tightrope, though, and start walking it, because it's the right thing for me right now and ignoring it is getting me nowhere.

Rough Week

There's been so much going on this week that I can't even begin to talk about it coherently. My social interactions have turned awkward once more, and I've got so much work to do that I feel panicky and nauseous whenever I think about it too much. I've got a knot in my left shoulder the size and texture of a baseball. You can actually see it when you look at me straight on; my left shoulder at my neck is slightly higher than my right one.

For the last few weeks I've been letting things pile up and not working efficiently. I didn't want to deal with the stress of it all, and I couldn't even think of it except as a giant cloud looming darkly over me. I finally wrote a to do list and I've been taking my ADD meds, which both have helped. It's still a lot of work, and there legitimately isn't enough time in the week to finish it.

I'm also just feeling really shitty about letting it get backed up like this. I haven't been attending to some of the responsibilities that are actually important to me, like leading the sexual health club or working hard enough on my thesis. I feel really disappointed in myself. I feel like I'm incapable of living up to my own ideas of what I want to accomplish. It's an awful sensation.

I'm also feeling lonely again. That's the part that just makes me feel stupid. Even confessing the details properly makes me feel like an idiot.

I've been having this friendship with a boy, S, who I met in person for the second time and spent week with over winter break in San Francisco. He's the one I was talking about going on a road trip with. I really like him, and we connected powerfully very quickly. That's extremely unusual for me; I'm slow to trust and open up. It helped that he'd been really great when I'd talked to him online about a crisis I had in the fall.

Anyway, after I came back to New York, I let myself rely on him a lot as a person to talk to. Sure, it was online, but it helped a lot. I didn't feel as much at loose ends, like I had all these emotional needs that weren't being met. I was able to go out and have sex with other people without worrying about my baggage coming along. I felt a lot happier.

Recently, though, he's started having sex with a lot of different women, which takes up about eight tons of his time. It's also really emotionally consuming, which I totally get. I'm happy for him, and I'm really glad that he's poly. It's another thing we relate on.

He also, though, has stopped really talking to me. These days, he doesn't even usually ask how I am in conversation, and he's so happy and busy that I don't know how to bring up the fact that I'm as stressed as a horse at a glue factory. I don't feel like I can demand his attention when we only spent a week together and I'm so far away.

The result of all of the above is that I feel really stressed out and pretty disgusted with myself. I also feel terribly alone, like not only can't I deal with my life right now, there's no one to help me. I really just want to be cuddled and soothed, but I have no idea how to make that happen. I can't just turn on the trust and comfort with the next random person that comes along.

So that's been my week. I'm hoping it gets better soon.

Horizontal

I don't know why these days happen.

I woke up and I don't feel like myself. I'd never really been this version of low before this school year, where I feel like nothing is real, but it's been happening more and more in the last month or two. I'm so dissociated.

There's so much for me to do, endless tasks and things I want to accomplish. I love it most of the time, but it gets so fucking heavy. I've been feeling overwhelmed lately, more than usual, and I'm reaching a point where I can't cope.

And it's either that, the pressure and the to do list, or this crushing sense of dissatisfaction. And I can distract myself and even sometimes soothe myself with video games or long hours in coffee shops talking about nothing or drinking to excess late at night. I just can't take a breather or it's all right there.

So I'm sorry I haven't been posting a lot. I either see this blog as work (which I love and sometimes don't have the energy for) or as something that should be more personal than it is and I just don't have access to that part of myself right now.

And of course my damn therapist couldn't meet the last two weeks, and the rescheduled meeting last Thursday had to be a "brief check-in" because she was sick. I needed more than that, but I'm too new with her to be like "No, it's not okay, I need a real session," when she asks. And being pissed at your therapist is about the least helpful thing on the planet.

I will hate this post later, but I also want it to be here. If I'm going to be honest about being depressed (and oh, how I hate labeling that when I'm actually feeling it) then why not let the reality show? Why not call it what it is? I'm having a depressed episode, and I'll come out of it eventually, but yes it sucks right now. It might be time to just feel that.

Tuesday Review: Wristcutters - A Love Story

I saw Wristcutters a couple of weeks ago, and I've been meaning to write about it. I figured what better time than on Tuesday, for my weekly review!

Wristcutters is a movie about people who have committed suicide. The premise is that when you kill yourself, you go to a world that's just like the real one but a just a little worse. Nobody can smile, there's not much to do, and everybody bears the scars of their suicides. When I heard the premise, I was excited for the film, and it definitely lives up to its concept.

They tell you in the title of the film that it's a love story, and I'd even go a step further to call it a romantic comedy. But it's a black comedy: the story wryly plays with the misfortune of suicidal people. Okay, maybe that sounds bad, but I think it brings a much-needed sense of humor to "offing," as they call it in the film. It seems like everyone I know is confessing to suicidal thoughts lately, so it was nice to see something that made light of a serious thing.

It was a classic film in a lot of ways: the main character, a wrist cutter named Zia, kills himself over a girl and then goes on a road trip to find her when he discovers that she's killed herself, too. He finds friends, romance, and adventure while he's looking for the girl. Classic bildungsroman travel film.

It's well done, though, with good acting and a great script. I definitely recommend this movie to anyone who likes a little heart warming with a dose of biting humor. I'll be adding it to my DVD collection soon.

Here's a trailer:

Exhaustion

Well, I am just so plumb tired that I can barely move. I'm writing from my bed, with no clothes on. They just hit the floor when I came in my bedroom door and I don't plan to move for the next...well, seven hours. I'm taking the GRE early tomorrow morning and that's when I'll have to get up. But for now, I can indulge my tiredness.

It has been an utterly exhausting two weeks. I was thinking about it, going through a tally of what I've been doing, and I have been all over the map emotionally and physically. I think my body might just go on strike. "No more stress, bitch!" Actually, it did give out. I got a migraine last night, a bad one.

Two weeks ago, I spent almost the entire weekend intoxicated in one way or another and hung out with a posse of new friends and had a great time. I tried a hallucinogenic for the first time, and had a wonderful trip outdoors with the grass, clouds, trees, and home made music. It was lovely.

Then that Sunday I had a brief but terrifying moment in which I believed one of my best friends might be killing herself. This took a toll on me, and I went into the week feeling rather down. Once you confront the idea that a loved one might be dead or dying RIGHT THEN, it's kind of hard to take back. (If she's reading this, I reiterate that I'd rather take on a little emotional toll and have her still be alive than not be available to talk to her. Really. I promise.)

I love being a confidante to my friends; it's really important to me that I'm available to be supportive. I consider it a huge part of my identity and value it above most other parts of myself. Last week it didn't just rain, though, it poured. Many of my friends came to me at one point or another with issues they wanted to talk through.

Normally, too, I can sustain this kind of thing because I try to set up my own emotional support systems so that I'm safe and sane and in a good place to help people. Now, though, my best friend has graduated, and my boyfriend dropped out, and I'm too far from my (very supportive) parents, so I just don't have the emotional shoring-up that I need. I was emotionally drained.

Then I went to the memorial service for my friend, which I already wrote about. As you can probably tell from my post about it, it was extremely hard. I didn't bounce back from it as quickly as I'd expected. I am probably still not dealing with the whole situation as much as I should be. In any case, I was very low by the end of last week.

So I went away for the weekend. I stayed with a friend who knew Scott, went to her music show, and generally took it easy for two days. I was hoping it would help to be away from my school and friends for a few days and to support and maybe even be supported by my friend. It did help some, I think, but being gone for the weekend definitely threw me off. I had school and work things to do over the weekend that I just didn't do because I was spending time on myself emotionally.

So then this week I was a bit reclusive for a couple days, but started to feel better on Tuesday and got to hang out with my new friends for a while. Of course, while I was hanging out with them, I had a worrisome encounter with a homophobic, verbally-abusive asshole. This wasn't exactly restful, but was also interesting and gave me food for thought to kick me out of lethargy. Assholes=anger=motivation.

And then last night I got the migraine. While I was supposed to be finishing a lab report, which I have now not turned in. And which prevented me from sleeping last night. Which also made me so tired that I am flaking on two things I was supposed to do tonight, but which I just don't think my body will let me do.

Not to mention the GRE tomorrow.

On the plus side, I had a meeting today which was very successful and has brought into fruition a project I've been working on for months. I had to be all charming and convincing during the meeting, and I think I pulled it off using the last reserves of my energy. I also started an amazing new sex advice gig, which has been taking up a lot of my brain but which I'm really excited about.

All this is on top of my usual responsibilities.

So I guess I'm stressed. I'm pretty sure this post is excessively long and rambles too much, but I'm too tired to deal with editing it down. Maybe I will later. I hope you, dear readers, will forgive me for one rambling, personal post when I'm barely awake enough to type.

Note: One thing I got done this week was to make an appointment for therapy, which will ostensibly help with some of this. We shall see.

Depression, Memory, and Art

You know, it's funny, my memories from times when I've been depressed are very fuzzy. I don't remember what it's like very specifically. I have journal entries and I can go back and read them now that I am well and say "Wow, I was really depressed," but I don't remember the details of what that feels like. I can only read them on the page.

When I'm no longer able to speak or to write, that's when I draw or paint or play with collages. I'm so verbal, when I can function at all my feelings come out in my words. I write here in the blog or in the journal I carry around with me at all times. I have a journal beside my bed. I write a column. I love to have long, involved conversations with people I both agree and disagree with.

I'm looking back at my journal, and there's a period from April to August of last year where I barely wrote anything. What I did write is abysmal: "I wish just something wouldn't be so hard. It seems like I struggle with everything lately. School, friendships, my parents...I want to be able to rest for a while. I want things to be easy and to be able to truly have fun and be relaxed and easy just for a little while. Maybe then I'll be able to make it through all of this..."

I don't know how much of my personality comes through in this blog, but I'm just not like that. I want things to be challenging. I thrive when I'm pushed. That up there is me altered.

And I know at that time I was drawing and making collages, which I almost never do. I don't think I have any talent, although I'm sure I could cultivate it. But I usually just have my words. They are my art. At that point, though, I couldn't express myself that way anymore. I'd lost the ability to describe my feelings so I just had to represent them.

I think that's why my memories are so funny from those time periods. Normally, I remember things in words, in stories. Of course I forget things when I'm depressed, because I do become so non-verbal. I lose my systems of expression and therefore of remembering.

It's crazy, the total effects it has on my life. It's been over a year now, since I was depressed like that. A year and a half. I'm lucky, in that I can be a functioning person without anti-depressants. Now, I have no idea if that will change in the future. I know that if I get into a really major episode I could need them to get out. I've tried to set up support systems for myself so that I can have them gotten for me if I get that bad.

I definitely do things to try and keep my brain chemicals level, though. I exercise, I have to be sure I eat enough or I'm vulnerable to a mood change. And I sometimes take medication for ADHD, which actually usually has a positive effect on my mood. The writing does help me to constructively deal with things as they come up so that they don't have a long term negative effect on my well-being.

I know I've been writing a lot about depression and mental health. I had a spurt of productivity and thinking after I went to that Active Minds meeting. I've also become much more comfortable with the idea that I have depression, and so I want to talk about it and find others like me. I want to make connections and build support. This blog is part of that for me.

"Mental Illness" and Mad Pride

Okay, I just discovered the Mad Movement.

I read the article the New York Times wrote on the movement in May and was fairly inspired, but for various reasons involving school finals and my time-consuming relationships, I didn't look into it that much.

Silly me.

The Mad Movement seems just as diverse as any other movement these days, but I really like what's at the heart of their cause. They want to make mental illness, in all its incarnations, something people aren't ashamed of. Something they're, in fact, proud of.

They see madness as simply another way of thinking, another way of interacting with the world. There can be benefits, they say, to extremes of experience or unusual perceptions of reality. People should be proud of their uniqueness. To find out more, check out MindFreedom International, The Icarus Project, and Liz Spikol's blog.

Remember how I said I was going to post more about my feelings on mental illness? Here it is.

I don't like the term "mental illness." I recognize that it has some use in acknowledging the chemical components of things including depression and bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. I can see how people want to call them illnesses because they need to be taken seriously and treated. They're not just character flaws or quirks. Yes.

But they're not like bronchitis or a common cold. They can't be cured with antibiotics and they're not going to go away on their own. Maybe they're like viruses: herpes, which flares up every now and then or AIDs, which is always kind of there and you have to treat it or you'll die. I see the analogy, but I think the term "illness" is too suggestive of some outside source or influence that's coming in and mucking up the body.

"Mental illnesses" are internal. Yeah, it's a body malfunctioning, but it's malfunctioning because it just does. There's no little microscopic whatever causing it. The malfunction is, in a way, an integral part of the human being housing it.

My depression is a part of my personality. It's integral to how I deal with things. What I feel is who I am, and to call that an illness offends me. I am not an illness.

I like the term I found on MindFreedom's website. They called it "Creative Maladjustment" after a Martin Luther King, Jr. speech. I'm down with that. Yeah, I'm maladjusted, but it sometimes lets me feel things more deeply than other people. This can give me insight that other people miss out on. That's pretty cool. I know that some of the same brain systems which lead me to get depressed (and to have ADHD) are also the ones that allow me to be empathetic, and well spoken, and productive.

So, uh, from now on I've got a creative maladjustment, not a mental illness. Okay?

Side Note: The NYT article was in the Fashion and Style section? What?

Active Minds and Psych Students

I went to a meeting last night for a new group on campus called Active Minds. Apparently it's a new chapter of a national organization, and their stated purpose is to "promote mental health awareness, break down the stigma surrounding mental illness, create programs that raise awareness, and facilitate discussions surrounding mental health issues."

I went because I have depression. I have it in the classic sense where I'm more or less fine most of the time but I have major depressive episodes that last around four to six months every 1-3 years. It mostly doesn't affect my daily life until I'm having an episode, and I've gotten better at preventing them and recognizing the beginnings of episodes so I can get help through them. I choose not to take medication at this point.

I was hoping that this group would be a forum for students with "mental illnesses" to come forward and denounce the stigma surrounding them. You know, a community of like-minded individuals. Crazy-minded individuals if you will.

It wasn't.

So far as I could see, there were two kinds of people in the fairly packed room at the first meeting. There were students like me who probably had "mental illnesses" themselves and had come for similar reasons to mine. When we went around the room, they seemed fairly shy and had a variety of majors. Then there were the psychology students. Now, I'm not suggesting that psych students don't have "mental illnesses," but at least some of them clearly thought they didn't.

The psych majors were there because they were interested in decreasing the stigma of "mental illness" in order for "mentally ill" people to be able to get help and get "cured" more easily. A lot of them talked about having friends who had mental problems and how bad and painful this was, and a big concern was how to get people around "mentally ill" folks to help them effectively.

It was all about making the "mentally ill" folks better. Fixing us. The girl who was running the meeting said at one point that she wanted people to "understand mental illness as a disease that's curable."

The thing is that "mental illnesses" are not curable. They're treatable. There's a huge difference. You can treat a "mental illness" with medication or talk therapy or any number of other methods, but by definition it will always be there to deal with in one way or another. Never "cured."

There's also a huge difference between helping someone and fixing them. I, as a "mentally ill" person do sometimes need more help than others to get through my everyday life. I very, very much appreciate this help when it's given and I need the support structures that the mental health community provides. I need those structures to be accessible, and making that happen does help me.

What I don't need is to be fixed. This is just a part of who I am, and I think I deserve respect. Maybe in spite of the "illness" and maybe even in some ways because of it. And that's what I was looking for when I went to a meeting to destigmatize "mental illness," some kind of respect for people with different (Active?) minds. An actual lack of stigma. You're not going to destigmatize something by trying to fix it until it's gone. That's still devaluing it.

But the thing is, the only people at this meeting who spoke up were the psych students. I didn't hear a peep from anyone saying they had a "mental illness," or what that was like, or what they might need. And sure, I didn't speak up either because I figured out pretty quickly that this wasn't the group I was looking for. It was clear as soon as they prissily said "This won't be a support group, it's just a group to run events to lessen stigma."

It wasn't a welcoming atmosphere to admit that you were "mentally ill." Isn't it funny that a meeting purporting to destigmatize "mental illness" silenced the "mentally ill"?

Note: You may have noticed I have put "mental illness" in quotations throughout the post. I really dislike this term and will discuss it in more depth in an upcoming post.