How Stigma Made Me Cry in My Kitchen

Source: Unsplash//SethDoyle

When my psychologist asked me how I felt about going on medical leave, I agreed immediately. That's how I knew how much I needed it, at the time. But as I thought about it over the weekend that followed, reality set in, and I discovered through my own thoughts that there was no way in hell that I could take three weeks off. I've never done anything like that before. But I did.

Today was the first technical day of my medical leave (Monday after the weekend). I woke up early, of course, ate breakfast, and watched a few episodes of my favorite angsty vampire show. By 8:30 AM, when the people I work with would start their day, I went back to sleep for a few hours. My friend from work texted me to ask me how I was doing and to make sure I had eaten (bless him). I binged my show a while longer, until it was over (end of the season and no more episodes available on Netflix). By that time, I couldn't possibly stay in bed any longer, so I cleaned. I threw on one of my playlists I will be using to hopefully finish that latest book I'm working on, and I cleaned. I got almost all the way around the kitchen countertops before I started crying.

It had been so long since I had done that thing where I threw the broom and fell in a pool of my tears in my studio apartment, and I thought I was older and wiser. I thought I had my shit together enough so that I wouldn't just start balling for no reason at all. But there I was, stuck in the throes of my own depression, because everyone was at work, and I was at home, in my sweats and memory foam slippers, useless. That was how I felt in that moment. Completely useless.

It didn't last long, the cheeky salt-fest. I got back to my cleaning after a few hits off my vape, which surprised me. Maybe I am older and wiser. Usually when I break down in such a way I can't do anything for hours after. Days. But I picked myself up off the dirty murk of uselessness and I cleaned the rest of the house and took a shower. I actually got dressed and went to Target because there are no sad, useless people in Target.

On the way home, I wondered what the trigger was. It could have been nothing; it is mental illness after all. It could have been the song or stress or it could have been cleaning. I really hate cleaning.

But the way I saw it, stigma strikes again.

At the National Institute for Mental Health, NIMH defines schizophrenia as:

"...a chronic and severe mental disorder that affects how a person thinks, feels, and behaves. People with schizophrenia may seem like they have lost touch with reality. Although schizophrenia is not as common as other mental disorders, the symptoms can be very disabling."

It is, at its core, a debilitating brain disease. No human being with this disease should ever have to feel this bad about taking a leave of absence to heal but I do and so many other people do because we are stigmatized into believing that we are making it up or we are just that crazy.

I've heard from professionals out in the field of mental health awareness that we have done enough to raise awareness for mental health and now need to do something more productive like reaching out to our politicians for change. But if you change the behavior you change the reality and if we had created a world where mental health was that prevalent I believe that I wouldn't feel this way. I believe that if schizophrenia was treated like a physical illness (which it is) in society's eye, I could focus on my health during this time rather than focusing on what everyone else thinks about me focusing on my health.

I believe that I wouldn't feel like having schizophrenia makes me useless.