Anonymous Submission

I attempted to explain my collection of conditions to myself the other day by making a BoJo style roadmap of my past. Every symptom’s history was laid bare for observation and scrutiny – my lord, were there a lot of symptoms. 

When the roadmap was complete, I called myself extra and laughed at my need to understand my own mind as if it was funny. But, in reality, understanding my mind, just as understanding anyone’s, will take a lot more than a roadmap or a book of life events (which is something I have also tried, by the way), or even an understanding of the chemical interactions that occur specifically in my brain, every second of every day (as if that were even possible).

The truth is that I don’t understand my own mind, and neither do the doctors, psychologists, and psychiatrists. Nobody does. My sister says that it’s a good thing I confuse the doctors, that it means I’m not basic. She always finds a way to make me laugh at serious topics, even those that many people don’t want to laugh about.

I laugh, but this is still me. I am not broken. I am not damaged. I am simply someone with chronic mental health issues.

There are so many words to explain who or what I am, so many categories. Ask different people and you will hear different stories. Ask an evolutionary scientist, and I’m of the species homo sapiens. Ask a psychiatrist, and I’m a combination of bipolar, borderline, psychotic, and anxious. Ask a family member, and I’m sassy and rebellious. Ask my partner, and I’m loving and kind. Ask a friend, and I’m caring and loyal. Ask me, and I’m a piece of trash.

A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet. Well, I have many names, many conditions. No matter what condition the doctors label me as having, I will still be me: a complex person with complex problems. I always called my collection of conditions a utility belt of sorts. While Batman had all these tools and gadgets to fight his enemies, I have a bunch of labels used to define my fight with myself.

Certain labels are still socially unacceptable, so I guess there are some labels I should be glad that I don’t have tucked away in my belt. Does it make me terrible to say that, or just honest? Who knows? Not me.

People say that society is evolving. The on-going Meghan and Harry situation would say otherwise. Many things would say otherwise. I am vocal about my mental health, yet I still publish this piece anonymously because it may damage my future to write about who I am right now and what I’m feeling. The fact that I feel this way puts this alleged evolution into question.

I am not saying this to discourage anyone reading from being diagnosed. I am saying this because nobody told me that being diagnosed wouldn’t mean being cured, but instead being treated. I am being treated and am eternally grateful for the life I am living. It is difficult, but it is life. I am alive. I may not fully understand my mind or my conditions, but I understand this much.