The first thing you
notice when you work with people with special needs is the reactions of able
bodied people. If I’m working with someone in a wheelchair, a stranger’s eyes
will immediately be drawn to the chair. If my client moves awkwardly due to low
functioning physical abilities, that’s what the stranger will notice first.
It’s natural, our gaze is always drawn to difference, but it also creates
tension, because most people don’t know how to act in the presence of a
disability. They’ll stare, then realize what they’re doing and look away. Or
they’ll smile and watch their feet or perform a hundred other nervous tics. Every
movement screams discomfort.
Whenever these situations arise, I always attempt
to smooth things over, act graciously. But there are times I just want to
scream. “It’s just a wheelchair! Stop treating my client like they’re a freak!”
I never do, of course, but it is often tempting. And when you see that reaction
happen consistently, it can affect you. Especially if you’re dealing with your
own noticeable disability.
In my case, it’s depression. Some days my mental
limp is hardly noticeable, even to me. Other days it’s more obvious, so much so
that I’ll avoid public places. Last year, things became so bad that I could no
longer move.
I felt trapped. Like I’d fallen out of my
wheelchair and everyone was staring at me. I’d always been fairly honest about
my struggles with depression, but it had never been this bad. This
debilitating.
It was a strange and entirely terrifying place
to be, as if I’d fallen in a crowded shopping mall and people were glaring at
me as they passed by. I heard the accusations in their expressions. I was a
loser. I was impotent. I was weak. I felt and heard those things, and my
response was to cower into a corner. My disability was no longer a limp. It had
produced a live corpse.
Months passed, and slowly, ever so slowly, I
was able to sit up again. I was able to stand. I was able to walk, though only
with crutches. Every step was painful. I did my best to ignore the stares and
pretend I didn’t see them. That was how I’d dealt with my depression for most
of my life, but this time it wasn’t enough. There had to be more. I was tired
of “surviving.” I wanted to live again.
But how did I do that? Was it even possible?
The answer was, and is, yes. Here is what I started doing, just a few things
that have helped re-shape my life.
1.
Ignore The
Lies
Like most mental health sicknesses, depression
tells you a lot of lies. In fact, I’m certain that depression has a Ph. D in Bullshit.
These lies are highly destructive. In my case, they separated me from my family
and friends. My depression told me that if I was honest with people around me, I
would only bring them down. That if I relied on my friends and was honest with
my wife, it would drive them away. In fact, the reverse was true. No one
understood what I was going through because I lacked the courage and
understanding how important it was to tell them. I ended up secluding myself.
Self-medicating with alcohol because I just wanted the pain to stop. What I
didn’t realize was that seclusion is about the worst thing for mental health sufferers.
When we are alone, the voices that tell us those powerful lies become louder,
and we hear them more clearly.
I am learning to reject those lies. I rely on
my friends now, more than ever. I am either on the phone or texting them every
day. I need them, and I know I need them. What’s truly amazing is learning how
much I have to offer. When I was trying to “spare them” with my self-imposed
banishment, I was actually missing a chance to help them. I was missing the
chance to hear what was going on in their lives and be there to console and
counsel them, just as they were doing with me. (Depression can manifest itself
in narcissistic behaviour, even when that isn’t the intention of those who
suffer from it.) I’ve also found a community at SickNotWeak, and I can go
there every day to interact with fellow sufferers for encouragement and comfort.
2.
Seek
Professional Help
This one hurts. I’ve battled depression for
nearly two decades and am only now getting professional help. There are
numerous reasons for this, including a lack of income or insurance, but
basically it comes down to fear and ignorance. I’m finally be addressing this
issue. It’s fine to read blogs like this one and talk to your friends, but
NOTHING matters more than getting professional help.
3.
Don’t Be
Ashamed
Over the years, I’ve mostly been honest about
my mental health issues, but more like an old high school football injury than
a sickness that is potentially fatal. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t do
anything to deserve it. Neither did you. Embrace it as much as you can and do
NOT be ashamed by it. The special needs children I work with at school didn’t
ask to be born with disabilities, and no one blames them for it. The same is
true for mental health sufferers. Yes, some people are going to be Climate
Change deniers. They’re going to accuse you of being lazy. Or weak. Or tell you
that “it’s all in your head.”
Ignore them. You can accomplish your dreams
regardless of your mental health issues, but never be ashamed of them. That
will push you into hiding, and that’s the worst place you can be. I had to
learn that the hard way.
Moving Forward
Look, dealing with this kind of struggle is
never easy. Mental health problems are nuanced and difficult. Not only for the
one who suffers from it, but for the people around them as well. It’s easy to
fall into the trap of simplifying something that is actually quite complicated,
and listening to the voices in your head that tell you awful things about
yourself.
No one moves without some pain in their life.
Whether they acknowledge it or not doesn’t matter, it is part of being human.
The key is understanding that no matter how bad it gets, you aren’t alone. You
may feel like you can’t do anything but crawl. Maybe it feels like everyone is
staring at your wheelchair. Those are lies. There are plenty of people willing
to help you up, people who suffer the way you suffer, people who understand
that only a life lived in community is a life worthy of living. We all walk
with a limp, whether someone can see it or not, and by reaching out and
ignoring the lies, you’ll find that you can do more than just survive.
You can live.
-Stephen
