I can’t explain what you won’t understand
The problem of mental illness is its invisibility– no wheelchair, no boils, no external signal that proves the existence of the condition. Like a pain syndrome, or a dormant allergy, mental illness exists to the beholder only to the extent that they are willing to behold it—to believe it exists. The other part of the problem with mental illness is its very mentalness—meaning that mental illness manifests itself it through words and deeds. Trying to explain what’s going on in your head, to someone who’s not inside with you, makes no sense– literally. There’s an underlying assumption that our thoughts and actions are under our control—such that the products of our thoughts, our words, our deeds, are intended. From the beholder’s end, the crazy person had to have meant what she said, what she did, because why else would she have done it, unless she was trying to be cruel/mean/whatever?
“Because I am crazy” ends up sounding like a lame excuse, but it’s true– unless you are inside the crazy person’s head, you can’t understand that there is a lack of control, a lack of connection between what you intended, and what manifests itself externally. When the crazy person is expressing thoughts, and acting on thoughts and feelings that are what she felt and meant at the moment, but which are based on a misperception of reality—psychosis, delusion, disassociation—how to explain it away when the episode is past, and say “I meant it, but it wasn’t real?” How to explain that your lies, your accusations, your hurtful behavior, were based on an unreal paranoid perception, or an anger so overwhelming that the whole world is colored red—but again, that it wasn’t real, you didn’t mean it in the sense of intending to hurt, now that the episode is past? Add into it the denial, the shame, the fear that we feel when we realize it’s happening again, and we lie about what were are thinking, what we are feeling before the episode really begins, because we know you won’t understand. It’s easier to pretend like your feelings and thoughts are connected to your words and deeds, and to not try to express, to in fact suppress, the swirl of emotions, the cycling thoughts, than to try to make you explain what you can’t. Which can only lead to more explanations of words and deeds to untangle when the world is right side up again. There’s an enormous leap of faith, of trust, that the outside observer is being asked to take—to believe what the crazy person is saying, afterward, even though the crazy person sometimes can’t trust their own mind.
I wish there were a flash animation online to show how increasing and decreasing hormone levels affect the map of the brain—your insight and memory, speech centers, emotions. Likewise with neurotransmitters, the electrical impulses that misfire when the crazy brain isn’t working properly. The analogy of serotonin to insulin works a little bit, and I’ve tried likening the misfiring impulses of the brain to a downed, live electrical line—who would go near it? No one. But the crazy person can sometimes lack the low blood sugar signals or the caution tape of the downed wire—making the “I can’t explain what you won’t understand” into a problem of “I can’t warn you about what I lack the insight to perceive.” Therapy can help, but it can take years to identify the warning signals, to become self-vigilant enough to seek help at the critical point. It’s better if you believe, and you watch with me, and you tell me I’m getting crazy again. That is, if I am lucky enough not to have ruined our relationship last time.
December 3rd, 2007 at 4:54 pm
That was a great articulation of a process that often defies verbalization.
Where I often fail is not knowing how seriously to take my symptoms. I don’t want to be The Little Boy Who Cried Wolf, or Chicken Little, worrying my loved ones every time I have an emotional blip. How many consecutive days of feeling down means that it’s serious and time to ask for help? As soon as I say something, they’ll start worrying. Do I really need to put them through that, or can I get through this one alone if I just get enough sleep and take my vitamins? I never really know.
December 3rd, 2007 at 7:51 pm
Yes. My husband has bipolar II, and I have had to relearn my responses to things he’ll say because there are definitely times when he’s “being bipolar” – responding as the illness, not as himself. And those times, I have to just let whatever he has said slide and get some space from him so that I won’t be hurt by whatever mean thing he has said. It’s hard to stay conscious of that possibility if I’m not in top form myself, though. That’s my part of the struggle.
December 3rd, 2007 at 10:31 pm
I can’t tell you how helpful it would be to be able to see that animated flow level inside the brain – if only huh!
Cheers
December 3rd, 2007 at 11:27 pm
I don’t know if you meant to do this with your post structure- but the flow of your words, the length of your paragraphs, and the complexity of your topic had me reeling. In a good way – I felt a tiny sliver of compassion open up in me in regards to something I haven’t personally experienced.
Fascinating read.
December 4th, 2007 at 6:02 am
Hear hear. Another reason why I wear my mental illness like a badge of honor and talk about it openly. I exist to help others understand … when one wears a cast, the outsider can see there is a break. My “breaks” are not visible, and therefore it is up to me to describe them, to laugh at them myself, to disarm my friends, family and people who I meet, so that they will know, “This is mental illness.”
December 4th, 2007 at 5:51 pm
Wow, very well written my friend. I think I will print this, laminate it and give it to people to read. xo
December 4th, 2007 at 7:17 pm
You summed it up quite well. My mother is Bipolar/Schitzophrenic, and it’s a hard life for all of us involved. We love her, but she’s caused immeasurable hurt to everyone, so we spend a lot of time trying to forgive.
It’s easier said than done.
December 4th, 2007 at 10:50 pm
i agree with sparkling red, you articulated this really well. it totally makes sense and i too rely on some people in my life that can tell me the truth .
December 5th, 2007 at 9:59 am
I wish I could get my husband (with Bipolar I) to talk about his illness this way. He seems to feel a lot of shame at “being bipolar”. :-(
December 5th, 2007 at 7:20 pm
Emily & Becky, it sounds like your loved ones are lucky to have you in their lives. The trying to be understanding on your part counts for so much–never undervalue what you bring to the table. We can’t do it as well without you loving us and being there for us as much as you can be and stay sane yourselves. Thank you, on their behalves.
December 5th, 2007 at 9:52 pm
I’m so happy to find this site…at times, I get to think if it’s just stress or it’s one best articulated in this article…I will be back for sure…
March 11th, 2009 at 7:54 am
i thank you for this from the bottom of my heart. have lost many freinds. illtelligent all.because they dont get it and mye xcuses sound lame. then i hate msyelf more. reading this is so good and helpful.i cant even start to say thanks.
life long nutcase xxxx