It was Bell Let’s Talk Day…

*I started this on Wednesday but my brain made the Windows shut-down sound so I had to finish it on Thursday*

…or, for those of us who are mentally ill, it was Wednesday. We don’t need to recognize a day, we’re aware of our mental health (or lack thereof) every day of the year. We’re in it waist deep, breathing (whether it’s four squared or 7-4-8), using our five senses as a distraction, or discussing which would be better – CBT or DBT.

Bell created this day to improve awareness of mental illness and to provide information to those who need it, although I’m sure the chance to shore up their horribly bad reputation went through their heads a time or two.

The first time I remember experiencing mental illness was sometime in my teens when I begged permission to build an open box from 2x4s in order to grow grass. I needed that tangible bit of proof that spring really would arrive, that I wasn’t going to live my life in constant desolation. I was met with baffled confusion because, of course spring would come, spring always comes. And, besides, grass wouldn’t grow in the basement. So I muddled through, not knowing that what I was experiencing was depression.

I used to love to go to the mall. I’d browse in The It Store. I went there so often and, yet, I don’t think I ever bought a damn thing. It was all novelty items and gag gifts and it grew increasingly more risque the deeper you went into the store. And, since this was pre-Chapters, I would check out the book stores as well. Most of the mall is one level but it turns to two at the south end (thanks to a hill). There were huge open spaces on the top floor, in the centre of the hallway, I’m assuming to let light flow through. They were fenced off with a clear railing. At some time in my teens I’d be blithely walking along the hallway and a thought would suddenly pop out of nowhere, “JUMP OVER THE RAILING!!!” I began to walk right against the store fronts, often brushing against the windows because I was that close to the stores. A few years later another thought came along. I’d be waiting at the bus stop when my brain would suddenly scream, “FALL ONTO THE ROAD!!!” I was so scared I’d do just that, I absolutely always made sure to stand a body length away from the road, just to be safe. These are called “intrusive thoughts” and they’re pretty common. I don’t know why, sometimes our brains are assholes. Here’s a very small video that helps to explain them although she’s a hell of a lot happier about them than anyone I’ve ever met.

And, over the years I gathered more symptoms, from sobbing at every session with my college therapist to several attempts at trying antidepressants. Eventually, the symptoms grew like an avalanche, gaining more and more symptoms until it became life threatening, to me not to anyone else. And now, here I am, with a good sized list of mental illnesses/neurodiverse diagnoses (and a hefty blister pack of meds). My life has settled into a quiet routine. I have chair exercises three times a week and a bevy of zoom groups and classes. They help to keep the depression down to a dull roar. I have a psychiatrist, a therapist, and an entire care team keeping an eye on me. And a cat who loves to snuggle with me for an afternoon nap.

I know I pretty much never clock as “normal” and these days I don’t even try. When I’m wearing makeup I get glittered up enough to be mistaken for a disco ball (note, this has never happened). I’m friendly to everyone and people do like me. It’s just… when Colin was little I used to joke that he wasn’t just marching to his own beat, he was off following a different band. I’m pretty sure I’m playing the xylophone and marching along right beside him. And, yes, our diagnoses are pretty much the same.

Over the years I’ve had people minimize what I’m going through. I’ve been told I’m on a lower level of the Ontario Disability Support Program than people who are physically disabled. There’s no bottom tier, you’re either disabled or you’re not. And I’ve been given the side eye because I went to Canada’s Wonderland for the day, along with Colin.

What they didn’t understand is we went there with PFLAG so there was a single bus ride there and back. They provided us with enough snacks to constitute breakfast plus a meal ticket for dinner, all we needed was to find lunch. We picked up our disability passes so we didn’t have to stand in line. In fact, the staff had no idea what to do with the passes so let us immediately board the next ride. They even let us sit in the front for every single roller coaster. I scouted out a relatively comfortable and quiet spot to nap on one of the small lawns and proceeded to lie down for an hour. It was blazing hot that day and I ended up having a Canada goose (aka Canadian Cobra Chicken) join me. She was so hot she was panting, I could empathize. Eventually we caught the bus and went home where I proceeded to recuperate for several days. I told this story to my therapist and she commented that the comment came from a lack of knowledge. The person didn’t realize how much time and effort I spent planning for the trip and planning at the park. They didn’t know how much energy it took from me. They simply saw pictures of Colin and I smiling and figured my trip was like everyone else.

There is so much misinformation about mental illness and a lot of it is flippant. I dropped a cupcake I was craving so now I’m depressed. No, you’re sad. If you feel the same (or worse) level of sadness for over two weeks then you might be depressed. And you’re not OCD if you wipe crumbs of your counter, that is in no way obsessive compulsive disorder and inviting someone with OCD to your messy house is unlikely to get it clean. A person with OCD has a compulsion (or compulsions) and an obsessive need to complete that compulsion. It could be they need to check their stove three times before they leave, even if they hadn’t used it. Or test the door knob to make sure it’s locked five times. Or washing all the dirt and germs off their hands except they always feel dirty and now their hands are bleeding. Psycho doesn’t mean someone’s running amok with a meat cleaver, no matter what the movie industry claims. The person is in a state of psychosis, which means their version of reality and actual reality are kissing cousins. They’re not any more likely to harm someone, in fact they’re more likely to be harmed. And just because you dislike someone doesn’t mean they’re a narcissist.

When you misuse words and minimize mental illnesses, it’s easy to see those illnesses as less than they really are, and to assume someone is faking, or not nearly as disabled as the “real disabled people”. You don’t see the real challenges people face. This impacts people at work, at school, in relationships, and more. Bell Let’s Talk Day is only one day. Are you ready to listen and support for the other 364?