A Short Story

The mother of two young children wakes up on a Saturday morning, and for one blissful moment, hovers in that state between asleep and awake where she's only partially aware of her surroundings.  Then in an instant it all comes rushing back... everything that happened yesterday, the painful treatment she had to go through at the hospital, crying because things felt so hopeless, not being able to do the things she wanted to with her children... and she feels crushed all over again.

She drags herself out of bed because she knows she has to care for her children, who will be waking up any minute (in fact, it's a shock that they're not already up!).  No sooner than she steps into the bathroom to take her shower, she hears the crying coming from her one year old little boy's nursery.  Followed by a loud yell of "MOMMY, THE BABY'S CRYING!" from her four year old daughter.  She sighs and retrieves her son from the crib, snuggles him, changes his diaper, and then, already exhausted, goes to the bathroom with both kids standing there vying for her attention.  She just wants to get back into bed... she feels so terrible this morning... not that it's different from most mornings.

Knowing she has to at least feed them some sort of breakfast, she pops in some microwave oatmeal, cools it off, and serves it to the kids.  She doesn't bother with making anything for herself... nothing agrees with her stomach lately.  Shower forgotten, after breakfast, the four year old (who is a little princess) is the only one who gets dressed.  She bounds downstairs with more energy than a small Midwestern town and chipperly asks "Mama, can we go to the park today?  It's pretty outside."

Guilt washes over the mother, knowing that there is no way she can take her daughter to the park on this admittedly beautiful day.  Just the thought of getting the kids and herself ready, loading them into the car, keeping an eye on them at the playground, loading them back up, and coming home, exhausts her.  Heart breaking because she can't give her daughter the kind of childhood she wants her to have, she says "Not today, sweetie, Mommy doesn't feel good."  The little girl nods - she knows what this means by now.

All day, the children's mother fights against feelings of panic, depression, exhaustion, and complete apathy.  She forces herself to do the things necessary for the health and well-being of her children, but it completely takes the wind out of her.  She wishes, over and over, that she had someone to help her with all this.  Her whole body hurts by now.  She just wants to collapse into her bed, or onto the couch, or even the floor at this point.  She hasn't eaten all day, yet she feels like she's going to throw up.  As she's fighting these overwhelming feelings, the guilt is overwhelming.  Her children deserve a whole mother, one who can do all the things she wants to do with them.  She hates that they have to understand, at such a young age, what it means when mommy doesn't feel good.  If she had a magic wand, she'd fix it all... not for her, but for her kids.

After a whole day of hearing other moms and dads outside playing with their children, reading parenting magazines about exciting springtime activities, the mother is feeling incredibly defeated.  If only she could do all these things for her children, who she loves a hundred fold more than herself.  If only she were healthy.  As she tucks them into bed, skipping baths because it's just too much today and asking them to choose a short book so she can get to bed herself, the thought occurs to her that this is what tomorrow will be like too.  Monday her children will go to a sitter while she is at the hospital... and then when they all finally get home, she will be too exhausted to really enjoy them.  Tuesday, the same pattern will happen again.  And over, and over, and over, for what seems like forever.  Sometimes she thinks she's never going to get better, that her children are going to grow up with only half a mother, that she is going to miss the golden moments of their youth.  She cries to herself as she falls asleep, praying for healing.

Having read all that, what are you thinking?  Keep in mind that this is a true story, a thousand times over.

The mom is obviously sick, but she's doing her best.  She probably needs some help at home.  What is she sick with?  Is it cancer?  Is chemotherapy why she's so exhausted?  Is it degenerative?  Will she die too young?  What horrific disease has stolen even the joy of playing with her children?

What if I told you that she is physically perfectly healthy?  That all her screenings have come up negative?  She doesn't have cancer.  She doesn't have heart disease or kidney failure or an aneurysm.  She has Borderline Personality Disorder.  Or Major Depressive Disorder.  Or Panic Disorder.  Or Bipolar Disorder.   It doesn't even matter which one, those are in a completely separate category for most people.  They are *mentally* ill... not physically ill.

I bet the first time you read this story, you felt sad for this young mom and wished you could help her.  Now go back, knowing what I've just told you, and see if you feel the same way.  Are you still sad for her?  Do you still want to help?  Or do you blame her?  Do you think she shouldn't have those beautiful children since she can't take care of them the way healthy person could?

I think most of us would like to say that it doesn't make a difference to us where the illness lies... but it does, because I've seen it.  Cancer is never anyone's fault.  A person with MS isn't expected to just 'push through it'.  Those of you who know me know that I help with car seat checks because motor vehicle accidents are a top cause of death in the United States and proper restraint can prevent that.  Public health dollars are allocated to these things en masse.

We find out someone we know has been stricken with a terrible disease, or hurt in an accident, and all the sudden a meal train is going on, people (some of whom you don't even know) are bringing you dinner every night, offering to clean your house, watch the kids for free, refer you to specialists that they know, offer a shoulder to cry on.  We find out that same person has a mental illness and we pull away.  Friends stop coming around so much.  They don't invite you to social events.  They tell you it's 'too hard' to be your shoulder to cry on.  There's no meal train.  No sympathy cards.  No flowers.  No concerned coworkers coming by your cubicle on the rare day you make it into work just to ask how you are.  Why?

In the 21st century, with everything we know about how the brain works, why would we treat it any different than any other diagnosis?  And because we do, how many people go without the treatment they need because they're terrified of the judgment that might come with a diagnosis?  For most physical ailments, failing to treat them *will* eventually be fatal.  Why would we expect any different of mental illness?  Just because it's a different part of the body?  Because there aren't quite so many awareness walks and ribbon months?  Because people you know don't just come out and say "I have a mental illness" they way they might say "I have diabetes"?  There have even been cases where social workers, knowing that the mother is mentally ill rather than physically ill, read the above story (in real life) as neglect and take the children away.  Would YOU seek treatment, knowing that in doing so you may lose the only parts of your life that still occasionally bring a smile to your face?

This has to stop.  It has to.  Because - and no, I'm not being overdramatic here because I have SEEN THIS HAPPEN - our inability to accept mental illness as something that occurs naturally, requires treatment, but does not change the person we know and love, IS KILLING PEOPLE BY THE THOUSANDS.  Look at the suicide rates in America over the past few years.
In 2010, suicide was ruled the cause of 38,634 deaths (up from 34,598 deaths in 2007) in the United States alone.  Motor vehicle crashes, however - admittedly an area in which I have done much research and volunteering, accounted for 33,687 deaths in 2010, having been officially surpassed as a leading cause of death by suicide.

Many people will say "Well then, why don't more people just get treatment?  They just shouldn't kill themselves."  But for what other illness or injury do we blame the victim for not getting help?

Make no mistake, suicide is a result of mental illness.  Physically and mentally healthy people do not just kill themselves.  Suicide is the 'terminal' of mental illness... only it isn't nearly as easy to predict or prevent.  Until we shatter the stigma associated with seeking treatment, so that getting help for mental illness is on par with getting help for physical illness, these suicide rates are going to continue to skyrocket.  Everyday people... mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, brother and sisters, are going to wake up every day and live the kind of life the young mother at the beginning of this post lived.  I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.

This month, May, is Borderline Personality Disorder awareness month.  The color is gray.  Admittedly, everything has a month, or a day, and a color, these days, and May is probably an awareness month for at least half a dozen other things, but my goal today is to shine a light on a dark corner of MEDICINE that is rarely seen or heard outside the clinics where it is treated and the lives of those who suffer it.  BPD CAN BE FATAL!  It can kill you just like any other disease!  10% of BPD sufferers eventually end their own lives.  It would not have to be this way if we could erase the stigma of seeking treatment.  This is only the first of my posts on the topic.  And I'm not saying we need to start up meal trains every time we hear that someone has BPD, starting tomorrow.  I'm not even saying that mental and physical illnesses CAN be treated medically in the same way - they cannot.  But what does need to change is our perspective.  Admitting mental illness should not be a source of shame or embarrassment.  It should be no more frightening to come out and say "I have Bipolar Disorder" than it is to come out and say "I have epilepsy".  The reaction to such an admission from a loved one should not differ.  That is the first step to stopping the epidemic rates at which mental illness affects our populations.

And that is something YOU can do.  Next time you hear that a church member has been hospitalized for a suicide attempt, don't avoid their gaze the next time you meet them.  Ask that awkward girl who mutters to herself how her day is going... and then just LISTEN to the response, no matter what it is.  Don't decide that these people can no longer be trusted or helped.  If and when it's appropriate, say something.  "Hey.  I heard you were having some problems.  Here's my number.  Please call me any time."

You might just save a life.