When I was 7, they gave me the number 300.02. They, being the doctors, instructed my mom to give me the red pill every morning, same time, everyday. They said it would make everything better.
After several years of struggle, fear, panic attacks, sleepless nights, stomach scopes, sickness, anger, and constant fights with my parents, I went back to the doctor. I was 13. I physically was healthy, besides some redness and swelling in my stomach scopes, and my low BMI scale score. My 300.02 diagnosis followed me, but doctor suggested it was related to my age and strong personality (ha) and not to worry, it would get better.
When I was 14, I started to get sick. I couldn't eat without becoming physically sick. From either crying so hard from fear or not being able to digest it. My mom thought my 300.02 was triggering all of this. Teachers called my home phone to discuss my odd behavior regarding meal time, my constant complaint of being too sick to dress out for dance, and my dwindling weight. To my surprise, my mom defended me and told anyone who asked that I was "healthy". . she said that her and my dad were very thin and so I was just the way I was "supposed to be". I got an additional number: 296.3
She and I had made a deal she would stop buying cookies, chips, snacks, white bread, full fat condiments, and so on and so forth. I told her I was "getting healthy" and needed nothing like this in the house. NOTHING. I started eating lettuce with mustard and sweet in low for meals. I drank cases of diet coke every couple days. I locked my door and ate while looking at myself in the mirror to remind myself how disgusting my body was. This went on for years. Finally, my body quit working. My heart only produced 24 beats a minute. The 10 years following were spent in treatment centers, hospitals, therapy and doctor's offices. The invisible disease was inside of me, but everyone could only see my sick body...not my sick heart, mind, and soul.
Months later, I had to go back to the doctor. My stomach, again. (Who would have though the organ that breaks down your food would be the first to mess up when you took away it's job by robbing it of food?!)
I stood on the scale, sucking in my stomach, praying I hadn't gained as much weight as I KNEW i had to have. To my surprise, I was about 12 pounds smaller. My doctor was very concerned. I laughed. The doctor had a private meeting with my mom. Weeks later, I found myself in an outpatient clinic of Arkansas Children's Hospital in Little Rock.
They gave me a new number: 307.1
The next several years I would be graced with some more number combinations: 309.81 and 300.7
My dad was so worried that I was going to be judged (I was). That my friends, classmates, teachers, etc would not know how to talk to me. That these numbers were going to be marked on me, physically, and everyone would know I wasn't "normal".
The National Alliance on Mental Illness states, "A mental illness is a medical condition that disrupts a person's thinking, feeling, mood, ability to relate to others and daily functioning. Just as diabetes is a disorder of the pancreas, mental illnesses are medical conditions that often result in a diminished capacity for coping with the ordinary demands of life."
Ancient Greek referred to mental illness as "divine madness".
For too many people, mental illness has been reserved in the "isn't a real thing" department. I've heard too many times, "I'm so depressed today. I can't believe I failed that test." "I'd rather kill myself than have to ____". "Don't be so bipolar!" "I wish I had an eating disorder!!! I could finally lose this weight!" etc., etc., etc. They believe that said mental illnesses are just temporary, selfish time outs that us "mentally ill" go through in order to get attention.
Twenty eight days ago, my friend, Kristina, lost her life after battling mental illness (307.1 was one of her numbers she was labeled with). She was a creative genius. Seriously. She also exercised too much. Ate too little. Worried excessively. Cried herself to sleep for years. Did everything she could for anyone who needed it. Kristina had red hair. Some freckles, but not completely covered in those little guys. She knew how many calories were in each ounce of her feeding tube when we were in treatment together. She told my how much was in mine. I tried to pull the nasogastric tube out of my nose that night. The nurse came and placed that SOB right back in that same night. I, of course, was terrified of the nurse being mad at me, so I lied and said I must have been having a dream and gave it a good yank! (Kristina said it was an excellent cover up for my stupidity of trying to remove it).
Eighty eight days ago, Kristina posted this on one of her former co treatment friend's facebook after finding out her friend lost her life:
"I'm sad I was signing on to right her a letter Friday evening.......I feel like a terrible friend, but Gretchen I hope you find peace and rest now. Losing you has made me think a lot about how I treat my own body and realize how short and precious life truly is."
Kristina's heart stopped 2 months after she wrote this.
I have an eating disorder (307.1). I have spent 85+% of my life struggling to accept, understand, fight, and learn how to cope from this "mental illness". I wasn't diagnosed until I physically fit the criteria, but my family now knows it's what I've struggled with since I was a very small child. Because of my struggle, I have met the most amazing human beings who walk this earth. I have lost friends because of this disease. I have been labeled "vain", "narcissistic", "ungrateful", "artificial", and so on and so forth. I have lied, made up grandeous stories, and hidden from my own self in order to step away from the preconceived notion that I was in fact, all of the previously listed adjectives. I have spent copious amounts of time working though my 309.81 diagnosis. I am PROUD of my tears, scars, and resiliency. Please don't judge me and tell me I should "get over it" or "move on". Respect me and respect my journey. Depression and anxiety have been part of my life since I can remember. I have been on over 11 medications, seen 15 therapists, and been analyzed by more medical doctors than I could count. As a little girl, I didn't sit in my bed with my dolls, dog, and stuffed animals all surrounding me, and decide to be "depressed" and "anxious". Actually, I cried and cried and begged my mom to help me. To make me not to be scared anymore. To stop the dreams. Stop the fears. Begged for her to hold me every night so I could try and fall asleep. I fell in the floor screaming more times than I care to remember because I couldn't control the anxiety (as a little girl, I thought of it as having the chills, not "anxiety") running through my body. My family was exhausted with my invisible disease. I have grown up and am now able to cope differently. Sometimes it's healthy. Sometimes, it's not. However, I recognize that and I am so THANKFUL for help. Mental illness isn't a temporary bout with selfishness. Actually, I have spent years never even thinking of myself. my basic needs. my worthiness. When you feel yourself related mental illness to selfishness think about calling someone with diabetes selfish for taking their insulin. . think of someone with Rheumatoid arthritis as selfish for needing to stay in bed longer because of their pain and weakness. Think about holding up someone you love with your life so their wrists can be sewn up and the bleeding can be stopped. Think about how bad THEY must hurt inside in order to try and take away their life. Think about how much better and easier they thought YOUR life would be if they would be out of the picture. And then, think about how you might be BLESSED to not suffer with an invisible disease that steals all rational thought, neurotransmitters that are supposed to release into our bodies and allow us to function healthily, and LIFE.
I am a human being. I have a purpose on this earth. I struggle with mental illness. Please do not judge me. Instead, give me a chance to change your mind on what mental illness is and how it affects one's life. I pray that one day mental illness will be talked about just as cancer, diabetes, arthritis, and such conditions are openly discussed. Prevention, education, SUPPORT, and open mindedness are all required in order for change to ever happen. Stand up for what you believe in. Stigma only exists because we have created it.
**All numbers listed are DSM-IV-TR diagnoses.
