Hearts In Atlantis

About a year ago I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder and an Unspecified Schizophrenia Spectrum Disorder. I hadn't expected to feel much about this -- I never expect to feel much about anything -- and so I was caught very off-guard by how much the reality of the situation weighed on me. I had a diagnosis. It was official, and it could never be taken away: it was now a part of my life, my story. Names have power, and diagnoses, although hypotheses, give people a way to communicate with others, and to seek out help and company.

I did my best to appreciate that.

But mental illness is alienating. I returned to Wellesley feeling as though I had just been told that I was in fact a stranger wandering around the people of Earth, a feeling that our society does little to ameliorate. Normal people see mentally ill people, neuroatypical people, as some other species of human being. Homo alienus. I felt branded; relieved to finally have some sort of name, some sort of answer, but branded all the same, and the concept that I had of myself had changed because of it. I felt like I had been walking the streets of Atlantis only to find that the ocean had taken my home away, that Atlantis may never have been there to begin with.

"It's horrifying," a friend of mine once said, "what neurotypical people say when they don't think people with mental illnesses are around."

I decided to attempt an act of catharsis. I wrote about my diagnosis on Facebook.

I hadn't expected the update to get much attention. What I received, though, felt like an outpouring of support. It was actually a little shocking. A few people even approached me with their own stories, some of them posting these to the forum and some of them speaking about them in private. People told me that I had inspired them to be more open. At the time I was dressed exclusively in my pajamas 24/7, with perpetually unwashed hair and a Scooby-Doo blanket I took everywhere, so the idea of being an inspiration to anyone despite that was something of a pick-me-up. And I had sorely needed a pick-me-up, a sense of camaraderie. It was almost like people were feeling what I should have felt for myself, and responding to me in a way that my brain could not. I appreciated that. It was a warm, welcoming sense,

This past week, my therapist and I revisited my diagnosis with the material that we had been working on for the past year. The general phrasing has evolved into more specific names. Schizotypal Personality Disorder, symptoms on the Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder spectrum, and hello depression, my old friend. My therapist also sometimes reads these articles, so, Michelle, if I've missed something, let me know.

As before, part of this is vindicating (I knew something was wrong!) and part of it is that same sense of weightedness (look at everything that's wrong with me. Just look at it.)

"You should write a book," I told my husband recently. "A memoir about how you married me and then found out that I had a personality disorder. It would sell well, you would be on talk shows, everyone would want to read about your harrowing experience."

"Ah, yes," Jack said in return, "She's warm and kind and funny."

That sense of support stuck with me. I've tried not to define myself by one diagnosis or another, but it's hard not to do that, at least subconsciously, when politicians are blaming people with mental illnesses for mass shootings and my classmates in advanced psychology classes were talking about how it was "so fascinating that people like this actually exist, don't you just feel bad for them?" and asking the professor if they could tour a psychiatric hospital. Hearing the other parts of myself made visible within the whole, at least for Jack, was comforting. Strange but true. Having someone to talk to has always been the most helpful thing, the best thing, for me. Like having someone help you fish your heart out of the sea.

I don't know what's next. I guess I'll find out.

All of these diagnoses ought to net me some sort of coupon, though. I mean, come on.

#mentalillness #mentalhealth