I bought the t-shirt.

I bought a t-shirt from To Write Love on Her Arms (TWLOHA); a wonderful organization that I encourage everyone to check out: http://www.twloha.com/vision/. The name, graphics, and design are awesome. I love my t shirt. I love wearing it. I love that it can communicate for me when I can't speak. 

Tonight I rescheduled my therapy appointment because I had to stay late at work. When explaining the schedule change to my husband, I tried to think of a creative way to explain that the appointment I would miss was my therapy appointment; without actually having to use the words "therapy or therapist". I was on an a crowded escalator with complete strangers and I didn't want anyone to overhear that I see a therapist. I catch myself doing this fairly often; more than I would like to admit. I am scared of what people will think, even in the middle of a crowd of people in a city where I have few connections and no family. I am afraid of what people will think partly because of what I think, my own destructive stigma about what having a mental illness really means.

Recently I was told that the holes in my heart may be growing. Did this phase me? No. Did I blame myself for not trying hard enough, eating right. excising or thinking positively? Of course not. There was a hole in my heart when I was born, it was patched and a few new holes have been discovered. No big deal. If I require an operation, they will operate.  Doctors can monitor this, employers will understand this, more importantly I can see this. Proof! Proof that I can show everyone. Proof that I can explain and that people will know how to react to. Dates and times and numbers to provide.

To admit that my mental illness isn't the result of a major character flaw, or of an emotional weakness that I selfishly allow myself to indulge in, is to admit that I lack complete control over my depression. If it's my fault, I can "fix it". If I work hard enough, I can make it completely disappear. It is easier to rely on my own stigma and blame myself than to acknowledge that this is an unpredictable illness that I may or may not live with for the rest of my life. By blaming myself, I feel as though I gain control over my depression, and continue to make myself dangerously miserable in the process.

Is this a productive way to approach "dealing with your depression"? No. You probably won't find this as one of the 10 tips on the wikipedia page. It's harmful, i's angry, and it's untrue. To admit that this disease isn't my fault or for lack of trying is to also admit the truth; this illness is powerful, unpredictable and deadly. I work at managing and controlling my depression and anxiety every day. It is, at times, exhausting and frustrating. Small setbacks feel much larger and "good" days are difficult to enjoy without thinking of the crash to come. Progress is not made without several wrong turns, self sabotage, and hard work.

So yes, I bought the T shirt, I wear the bracelets and when I'm feeling confident, I can easily discuss and joke about my own experience with anxiety and depression ...  but deep down, I struggle to reject my own internal stigma and accept the truth; this is a disease, it's not my fault, and I am not a weak or lazy person.

Here's to changing the stigma (inside and out) of mental illness.