People have asked me before, what is it like to live with a mental illness? I’ve recently been thinking about this.
Until a few months ago, I would have given the answer that I thought they wanted to hear, or I would have shrugged my shoulders and not really known what to say. I didn’t really know what it was like to live with a mental illness, because my mental illness was my life; it was all I really knew, and I couldn’t imagine life without it.
I had first been diagnosed when I was about 12/13. Although I’m pretty sure I was ill way before this. I had a bad head injury as a toddler, docs have mentioned this could have been a factor for my depression later in life. Anyway, I didn’t know what it was like to live without feelings of self-hatred and a voice in my head that constantly told me why I was inadequate, disgusting, worthless and simply wrong in every way.
I didn’t know it was possible to live without constantly panicking about what I was feeling and how sad I felt, or without having panic attacks and extended periods of time where I wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and never wake up. To ask me what it was like to live with a mental illness was to separate the illness from myself, from my life, as if it was some kind of additional thing. This wasn’t the case. The illness was my life; it seemed that to live without it was to stop living.
If you ask me now, my answer would be different. For me, living with a mental illness that controlled every thought and behaviour was not really living at all. On a good day, I was coping with a mental illness. On a bad day I was unable to cope. At no point was I fully living my life.
Having been controlled by illness for so long, the idea of living a life without it controlling you, is terrifying. It is unknown, unfamiliar and feels impossible. I remember counsellors and psychiatrists talking about recovery, and I remember being terrified of the prospect. I hated being ill, but I didn’t know who I was if I wasn’t ill. I didn’t believe it was possible not to be ill. Even as I went through the recovery process, I was waiting for the illness to come back, almost welcoming it back at times, because I didn’t know how to be without it.
But through this period of recovery, I have been extremely blessed with wonderfully patient friends who have helped me see that I deserve, and can have, a life that isn’t controlled by mental illness. I have learnt to express emotion and talk rather than burying everything and taking my anger and sadness out on myself. I have learnt that it is okay not to be okay. It is okay to have good days and bad days and make mistakes and not be perfect. I have learnt that Becci can have a life.
Recovery is challenging, but it’s worth it.
Recovery is an ongoing process, and it is a hard one. But it is worth it. I am almost 34 years old , and I feel alive for the first time. There are things I can do now that I couldn’t have even imagined doing before. These things aren’t easy, but they are possible, and they are becoming less and less scary.
I can laugh and cry and express myself rather than being too scared to do so. I can make a mistake without needing to self-harm to numb the shame and fear that I felt. I can let people in, and be myself around them without constantly fearing that they are about to run away. I don’t have to suppress every emotion through fear that I might completely fall apart if I let anything out. I can talk about the things I am struggling with without feeling too much guilt, because I have learnt that I have a voice and that I am allowed to use it.
Recovery is painful and scary and full of bumps, but it is worth it. If you are struggling with a mental illness, you aren’t alone, and it doesn’t have to be like this forever. You deserve support. You deserve happiness. You deserve a life.
I will still have bad days and some extremely bad days. I know when these days arrive, as they always do, I’ll say the opposite to everything above. But, good days will follow. They always do.
Happiness Challenged aka Becci Douglas
Happiness Challenged 