Jan 07, 2021
What My Mental Illness Taught Me About Self-Control
There are entire lines of therapy that basically boil down to “learn self-control so you never upset the sane.”
There are entire lines of therapy that basically boil down to “learn self-control so you never upset the sane.”
Everyone’s experience of a diagnosis is different. Here is mine: A key opens a lock I didn’t know existed, sending a door swinging wide.
When you attribute someone’s evil actions to their mental health status rather than their actual root cause—like white supremacy—then that evil is no longer presented as a choice.
Disability ruins everything, these stories tell us: disability itself is tragedy. These people’s lives are over, apparently, even though they are palpably still here.
It’s hard to articulate what it feels like to spend a lifetime being told that you are not allowed. Not always in so many words, but in gestures, in spaces, in thoughtlessness.
When your back is against the wall, dumping your loved ones in the president’s front yard can seem like the only rational response.
You will remember, in fact, the first doctor who does ask, who says ‘is it okay if I put my hands here,’ gesturing, waiting for you to say ‘yes.’
Here’s a thing about being labeled “smart” as a kid: When there’s a thing you’re not good at, people assume it is because you are lazy.
Experiencing a severe reaction to medication taught me many interesting things about the limits of my own body, but also the limits of the world around me.
Those who spend their lives in bodies others deem unworthy grow accustomed to building our own self-worth.
It is not so much that these things are invisible as it is that people are trained to hide them, and society is conditioned to look away from them.
Disability is not wrong or tragic or bad, but sometimes it is a symptom of a grave injustice.
How can I say that I fear I’ll never date again without feeding the monster? No one owes me their touch; I am starving for it just the same.
It is very rare, as a disabled person, that I have an intense sense of belonging, of being not just tolerated or included in a space, but actively owning it.
“Accommodations are things that we need, and deserve, in order to lead our lives. But they’re treated—we are treated—like we’re trying to pull one over on the rest of society.”
I want to surround myself with people who argue with me, for I learn so much more from these conversations.
“If losing your friends all the time is a dismal way to live, closing yourself off from humanity is even more grim.”
“When is disability humor appropriate and when isn’t it?”
Living with an unquiet mind is like living with a noisy, restless, anxious human who tugs on your sleeve for attention.
