Managing the Sickness

I found myself contemplating mental health last night as I was trying to sleep. I often think about mental health, both in the general and in my specific case. I have no official diagnosis for any of the mental illnesses or conditions I deal with, but when I have a cold I don't have to go to a doctor to tell that I'm sick. There are symptoms that present themselves, things I can point to and say, "I know I'm sick because my body temperature really should be this hot", or "Coughing really isn't something that my lungs just do for no reason."

Last night it occurred to me that I don't actually get sick very often—I don't get colds regularly, or the flu hardly ever. My immune system is robust and healthy; even when I do catch an illness and get sick, it isn't for an extended period of time.

And then I found myself wishing there was a mechanism like that for the brain. Obviously the immune system works to keep infection out of the brain in healthy individuals, but it's incredibly ill-equipped to deal with illnesses like depression, anxiety, chronic fatigue, or insomnia. There are no antibodies for my depression.

As I said, I'm currently without an official diagnosis for any mental illness. But I know I'm sick. I've got the equivalent of fever, chills, and a runny nose.

What I learned growing up, both about mental and infectious diseases, is that I have to pretend that I'm okay. I have to work through the sickness, keep going despite the aches in my joints and the fever-sweat on my brow; keep going even when I can't clearly see the next week, let alone the next year.

I don't know why it's so important to not let others see that I'm sick. I don't know if it's a bravado thing; if it's an American exceptionalism thing; if it's a pride thing; it might be a fear of showing weakness to others, or just to myself. It might be a lack of vocabulary to talk about these things. It might be the belief that others don't go have similar experiences.

I do know that I've had to work long and hard not to feel like it's a personal failing of mine any time I do get sick. I still have days where I'm sure that if I were a better person, I wouldn't have these feelings or thoughts.

I've grown up in a culture where everyone is supremely responsible for the goings-on in their own mind—which means that if something goes wrong in there, it's the fault of whoever owns the mind. There are no acceptable external factors that contribute to mental illness.

Everyday is a struggle. I don't mean in the sense that I'm constantly flailing at life; I mean that every day that I wake up, I have to fight my own mind in order to keep it healthy.

Left to its own devices, my brain would engage in ultimately self-destructive behaviors because it's really only interested in the short-term. It's learned, somewhere, that long-term plans never pay off, so cling to things that feel good right now.

I, on the other hand, know that I have to engage in long-term thinking if I want to keep my mind from getting sick. I have to plan my day, as much as I can, in order to make sure that I'm doing things that support myself. For the longest time, I didn't understand that I had to do this. I looked around and saw fully functional human adults and thought they had access to powers beyond my capability. They just were able to do things and be productive and build a life for themselves, while all I seemed to do was keep my head above slowly-rising water.

It is important for me to remember that, metaphorically speaking, my mind's immune system is compromised. I am more prone to mental illness than the (apparently) functional humans I see all around me. It isn't a moral failing. It isn't something I've earned because of my misdeeds. It's simply a truth about my biology. I probably won't ever be cured (lots of diseases have no cures), but I can learn to manage it.

I can probably learn to manage it.