Making Friends With Your Mental Illness

We had a lively, intimate gathering at Branson Hospital last evening.

My husband Marty and I were greeted by the amazing Theresa Claxton, the coordinator of the Central LHIN Consumer/Survivor Network, who planned this event. She had placed dozens of bright blue “Coming Out Crazy – an evening with Sandy Naiman” signs along the circuitous halls of Branson to ensure no one got lost.

Tanya Shute, the electrifying executive director of Richmond Hill’s Krasman Centre for Community Mental Health was buzzing about, too. Tanya never stops. We’ve become friends because I’m putting the finishing touches on a Field Note for The Walrus magazine about one of her programs.

The Branson Hospital auditorium seats about 250, but it was more like a private party. About 30 people chose to forgo the third televised presidential debate to attend. Quite the sacrifice, I thought.

A few minutes before we began, I asked everyone to move close to the front. I wasn’t planning a formal talk, but more of a “Phil Donahue.” I moseyed around, chatting “up close and personal,” introducing myself, shaking hands, thanking people for coming and trying desperately to remember their names.

The first person to approach me was Sonia – a familiar name to you. Sonia responds often, eloquently, and with exquisite insight, sharing snapshots of her life here at Coming Out Crazy. For me, sitting here in the quiet isolation of my little study as I write these posts, Sonia has become a cherished confidante. We share some of our innermost secrets without ever hearing each other’s voices or looking into each other’s eyes. If a reader’s comment is in the least disagreeable, she always bolsters me with her calm, comforting, encouraging wisdom.

Sonia, meeting you last night was thrilling for me. Thank you for trudging up from downtown Toronto to attend this gathering and for giving me a copy of your book. I will cherish it and can't wait to read it.

Another reader, Brandon, attended. He was one of the first to respond to Coming Out Crazy, long before we were interactive. He emailed me from Europe while travelling and studying. What a kick to meet you now that you’re home, safe, continuing your studies here.

After Tanya’s gracious introduction, the evening began, with a question from me.

“What would you like to hear?”

One lovely gentleman asked, “How can I become friends with my mental illness?”

What a great question! It set the tone for the evening. I think we should all become friends with our so-called mental illnesses. Then we become friends with ourselves. And we can begin our recovery.

My knee jerk reaction was to say, forget the mental illness and start loving yourself exactly as you are. After all, who says you have a mental illness? It turns out he has an obsessive-compulsive nature. He refers to it as a disorder. That’s who he is.

Believing is seeing, I suggested. It’s what you believe that you see. Perhaps you can change your belief system around this “disorder.” See yourself differently

He said he has overcome about 80% of this "disorder," but it’s that 20% that’s still nagging at him. He wants to be rid of it all. Why can’t he accept that’s who is? Now? He has a fraction of the obsessive-compulsiveness that he used to have – 20% of what it used to be. Why can’t he become friends with himself, accept himself and that 20%? Why cling to the idea that something’s wrong with him, when so much is right. When 80% is right? Nobody’s perfect.

He was a darling. Lovely. And at 80%, he’s an “A,” I told him.

Another woman wanted to know how to better treat patients on an in-treatment unit.

“Start thinking of them as people, not patients. We’re all people first. Human beings.”

Oh, how I hate those diagnostic labels. Trying to fit individuals – unique – into the a set of categories. The fit is never right.

Another lively young woman bravely confessed she’s finally learned to accept herself exactly as she is, despite the expectations of her family, who have always seen her as “different,” as “mentally ill,” and never accepted her just the way she is. It was thrilling to hear her celebrate her natural “exuberance.”

We’re all unique. Special. Different.

There were many questions. The discussion was lively. Finally, after 90 minutes, we adjourned for coffee, fresh fruit, cheese and pastries. Everyone continued talking, sharing with each other, mixing and having a great time.

What was billed as a public forum turned into a celebration of all our uniquenesses.

We were all Coming Out Crazy together. Free to be exactly who we are.

Comments

[Tara]

Living with a diagnosis has a tendency to make me feel very different from other people, like I'm not "normal" somehow. And then I reconsider; what is normal? And who, exactly, IS normal?

I've not yet met a normal person, with or without a diagnosis. "Normalcy" is a myth.

My point is this; we need to stop worrying about whether or not we do fit in. Fitting in is relative. Everyone I've ever known feels self-conscious and like they stick out like a sore thumb in a crowd. And even the most confidant people get the sweats in a room full of strangers.

I wish I could have been there.

[Sandy Naiman]

Tara, so true.

We're all special in our own unique ways!

There is no such thing as "normal," except in medical texts and I suspect the people who habitually read them aren't particularly "normal" either. :-)

The problem with "diagnoses" is that we tend to internalize them and that's when they become destructive. That's why I support the work of the mental health Recovery movement. Ninety percent of the work done by Tanya Shute of the Krasman Centre and Theresa Claxton with the Central LHIN Consumer/Survivor Network and all those working in Recovery helps people overcome their diagnoses and discover their own strengths and goals – and how to reach them.

I hope we will have more public forums and you will be able to attend.

Thanks for commenting.

[anonymous]

I really dislike the idea of Mad Pride. I dislike how "madness" is seen as a way of life, or a part of your personality, instead of being a condition you can recover from. If you shouldn't label yourself, why would you want to define yourself as "mad"? Madness does not have to be a way of life, and with my own experiences, it is a miserable way of life.

I have anxiety, social phobia, and OCD, and I'm currently on meds. While I am fairly open about this (I have told people about my anxiety), I don't want to define myself as "mad". I have called myself "mad" and "mental" on plenty of occasions, to break the tension or make myself feel better, but I would never want define myself by my mental illness. I've always been anxious, but my anxiety got much worse in my first year of university; I've partially recovered though. I don't consider my "madness" to be a part of me; I consider that there is a difference between my natural tendencies towards worrying and shyness, and my anxiety disorder. I don't understand why some people are so opposed to diagnoses. I found that getting an official diagnosis of social phobia actually helped me, because then I realized that I wasn't just "stupid" or "socially retarded" as people used to call me, I actually did have a problem, one that had been untreated for 15 years. And finding out that I had anxiety helped me too, because then I knew what was happening to me. And I wanted treatment for it, even if it did involve meds. I would rather take meds than cut myself or stay up all night obsessing and panicking or consider suicide. The meds didn't relieve my emotional issues, but they stopped the panic attacks and the obsessions, and I feel it was worth it to take meds, although therapy - as well as taking a year off from school, and having a supportive family - helped me much more. It hasn't been easy to take them, with all the side effects, but I hope that one day I won't need them. Psychiatry has been very helpful for me, and I would probably have ended up in the hospital if I hadn't seen a doctor.

I believe in being open about mental illness and getting rid of stigma, but I am not going to label myself as mad. I am not my anxiety!

I usually like your column, and I'm sorry to write such a negative response, but Mad Pride and the anti-psychiatry movement just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.