My personal relationship with the word “crazy” has been intense. I thought nothing of the term and used it in jest until my psychotic breaks. But after my first break, I did not hear anyone say the word “crazy” in passing without thinking they were really talking about me. Anytime anyone I know said the word “crazy” in jest during and in early recovery from my illness, I would use that information to deduce this person would judge and reject me if they found out that I have been psychotic before. I am careful not to use this word lightly, because of how this word made me feel when I was recovering from psychological and emotional damage from my breaks.
Nowadays, I don’t feel like people are really referring to me when they say that word. Even better though, I’ve lost the sense that I stand out as that person who had psychotic breaks and went to a psych ward multiple times, as if I’m the only person that has ever happened to. It simply feels amazing now when I sit down at a dinner with friends, or coworkers in a conference room, and I don’t feel different than anyone else. I also don’t think I stand out due to some glaring fact or reality about myself that I hope no one else finds out about. Why should the fact that I’ve had psychotic breaks and have a diagnosis be the defining factor of my existence, as if no other feature of my identity matters near as much?
The truth is, I never should have felt like I was set apart for having a stigmatized, misunderstood illness, or that this factor truly makes me different than people around me in a way that reflects poorly on me. It’s taken me a long time in my recovery to fight through this mentality, and here’s what I suggest to others to keep in mind.
Everyone Feels They Have Things to Hide
I don’t think there are many people out there who don’t have something they keep to themselves, in fear that if people knew, they would be judged or rejected. However, stigma tells people like us that of anything to be embarrassed about or hide, the fact that we have been psychotic and are diagnosed with schizophrenia means we have the ultimate secret and cause for shame. The irony of course is thick because it is a medical condition that is entirely not our fault nor under our control. Why should we be more embarrassed about something beyond our control and not our fault than life setbacks others face that are within their control and are their fault?
We are Not Different and Don’t Stand Out from Everyone Else Like We Assume
Please do yourself a favor and lose the mantra: “I am crazy, and everyone else is normal. It’s just a matter of time before people figure me out.” Long before I got over this idea that I was the “crazy one” in every social and professional situation, there would have been no way for anyone to tell that I had ever been mentally ill or currently have any mental illness symptoms. However, I had uncomfortable emotions inside as part of an internal, subjective reality that I am really different than everyone else, and it’s just a matter of time before I’m figured out.
Part of moving past this state of mind is remembering that no one can see my past, and most people are thinking about themselves and not me. Most people are self-conscious themselves and there is no “mental illness radar” people have to scan a room for people like me. Part of having an invisible illness is that you live this illness inside and can often conceal it well from others. You can often pretend you are doing better than you really are. However, it can be tough negotiating who you are inside and how you really feel with the person you project externally to others. It is wonderful when how you feel inside and what you project to others are one in the same.
Self-Consciousness and Shame Can Work Against You
The self-consciousness involved in seeing yourself as the “crazy one” in friendships and in relationships can actually work against you. It has made me come across as self-absorbed or unable to think about others, and it has created walls before between who I really am and my ability to connect with others. I’ve written before that a huge turning point in my recovery is when I could forget that idea that I’m that “crazy person with all the problems” among my friends and, instead, be able to focus on their lives, their problems, and how I can help them.
The insecurity and negative energy garnered from this idea that you are the “most messed up person around” can cause you to forget your value and equality to your friends, families, and partners. I know I have felt a responsibility to hang my diagnosis of schizophrenia over my own head and punish myself continually for what I have previously seen as embarrassing, but doing so just sabotages relationships and causes me to not understand my worth to others. When you focus on the negative and let it define you, you forget about all the wonderful things about you that outnumber the facts of your mental health history.
What Today Looks Like for Me
Everyone knows my diagnosis, and I am fully confident that nobody looks at me any differently. There’s no reason to even bring my diagnosis or mental health history up. The fact that I am diagnosed with schizophrenia is about as relevant to my close friends as the fact that I’ve had my wisdom teeth out. I have lost the self-consciousness and sense of “otherness.” I now sense and believe that I am no longer the “crazy” person married to a “normal” person. I’m no longer silently apologizing about my mental illness history to everyone and thankful for people looking past it. I wish I had lost all these distinctions much sooner, but at least I have arrived at where I am now, over a decade after my diagnosis.
We Are All Progressing Together
Everyone faces heartache and adversity that requires perseverance, and these experiences connect your illness to any one of many hardships in life that produce similar feelings. One thing that has been heartwarming, as I have revealed my diagnosis and mental illness history to everyone through my writing, speaking, and social media posts, is that people who don’t even know me well can now look past my diagnosis and inpatient unit experiences and see the bigger picture. Many people now instantly identify with my experiences as a story of heartbreak, setbacks, and starting completely over in life. I am now seen as someone who has “come-from-behind.” People are cheering me on, and the specifics of my battle have become less significant.
I think we as people who have experienced serious mental illness strive to work on our self-stigma. I honestly believe that society is working to understand serious mental illness better and identify with our experiences to decrease stigma. Maybe we can all meet someday in the middle with no “otherness.”
