Disem[Body]ment
I haven't had a relationship with my body in so long--I remember abandoning it when bipolar hit because it was simply too painful to be present. I never understood what people at massage school meant when they said we carry lots of emotion in our body. It makes sense, though, because it's not really until it's safe to be me, to inhabit my "self," that I am free to realize where "I" am located. I guess I've spent so much time hating myself--I never used to--because the illness inflicted so much pain that there was nowhere for it to go but inward. I remember feeling so overcome with pain and misery that all I could do was despise myself.
Such ugliness. And I didn't ask for any of it. I don't plan to play the "victim" role, but at the same time, I have been "victimized," by the illness, so I must deal with it somehow. I took the pain I was experiencing with the illness out on my own body, I think, and I think I'm just starting to realize that. Recovery exists on so many levels. Just when I think there isn't any more ground to be gained, there is.
I think about the links between my experience with bipolar--a socially taboo subject--and my friends in the gay community--still socially taboo in some places. I've learned a lot about my own situation from watching gay folks navigate their own experiences with being someone other than whom parts of society would have them be. It's the same issues--who do you tell? when? under what circumstances? what if you can't get around telling someone and fear judgment or worse? These are all things we talk about in bipolar support groups that I have also heard gay friends mention.
I remember all the fear and paranoia around AIDS in the 1980s before we really knew what it was and what it wasn't. I feel like that's where we are with mental illness. It's nothing to be afraid of, but a lot of people don't know that yet. I always feel like I'm setting off a nuclear device in the face of anyone I tell that I have bipolar. But the point is that mental illness isn't anything to be ashamed of, so I am not going to be complicit in my own oppression and marginalization by pretending that it is. I have no reason to hide it from anyone. At the same time, though, there's no reason to announce it to everyone I pass on the street, so it's a question of finding that balance. I'm not going to hide it, but there's no need to broadcast it, either.
"Normal" people have the luxury of being cowards; of being discriminatory and never examining what lies beneath their fear; of never being branded with an ugly label that they have no control over yet have to face every day. People with labels like mine have to bite the bullet and toss it back to the world and say, yes, I have this condition, what are you going to do about it?
Speaking of bipolar, I took my meds on time tonight, which means I won't oversleep tomorrow! Learning how to take care of myself is hard, and there are many aspects of the illness I have yet to accept. These days, my life consists more and more of life, and less of the illness. And I can't tell you how good that feels. I saw my dermatologist the other day, who is one of my favorite people, and he gave me his usual pep talk and kind words. I looked at him and said, "You normal people are so spoiled," and then immediately felt horrible for being so negative. He doesn't take it personally, which I love. The better I get the more astonished I am at how much easier it is to function, and how easy it must be for normal folks to function. Makes me envious. I really can't remember those days, when life was effortless and I didn't have to think about every little thing as if it were an insurmountable obstacle.
Such ugliness. And I didn't ask for any of it. I don't plan to play the "victim" role, but at the same time, I have been "victimized," by the illness, so I must deal with it somehow. I took the pain I was experiencing with the illness out on my own body, I think, and I think I'm just starting to realize that. Recovery exists on so many levels. Just when I think there isn't any more ground to be gained, there is.
I think about the links between my experience with bipolar--a socially taboo subject--and my friends in the gay community--still socially taboo in some places. I've learned a lot about my own situation from watching gay folks navigate their own experiences with being someone other than whom parts of society would have them be. It's the same issues--who do you tell? when? under what circumstances? what if you can't get around telling someone and fear judgment or worse? These are all things we talk about in bipolar support groups that I have also heard gay friends mention.
I remember all the fear and paranoia around AIDS in the 1980s before we really knew what it was and what it wasn't. I feel like that's where we are with mental illness. It's nothing to be afraid of, but a lot of people don't know that yet. I always feel like I'm setting off a nuclear device in the face of anyone I tell that I have bipolar. But the point is that mental illness isn't anything to be ashamed of, so I am not going to be complicit in my own oppression and marginalization by pretending that it is. I have no reason to hide it from anyone. At the same time, though, there's no reason to announce it to everyone I pass on the street, so it's a question of finding that balance. I'm not going to hide it, but there's no need to broadcast it, either.
"Normal" people have the luxury of being cowards; of being discriminatory and never examining what lies beneath their fear; of never being branded with an ugly label that they have no control over yet have to face every day. People with labels like mine have to bite the bullet and toss it back to the world and say, yes, I have this condition, what are you going to do about it?
Speaking of bipolar, I took my meds on time tonight, which means I won't oversleep tomorrow! Learning how to take care of myself is hard, and there are many aspects of the illness I have yet to accept. These days, my life consists more and more of life, and less of the illness. And I can't tell you how good that feels. I saw my dermatologist the other day, who is one of my favorite people, and he gave me his usual pep talk and kind words. I looked at him and said, "You normal people are so spoiled," and then immediately felt horrible for being so negative. He doesn't take it personally, which I love. The better I get the more astonished I am at how much easier it is to function, and how easy it must be for normal folks to function. Makes me envious. I really can't remember those days, when life was effortless and I didn't have to think about every little thing as if it were an insurmountable obstacle.
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