We’re Not Crazy!

cra·zy

ˈkrāzē/

informal

adjective

1. mentally deranged, especially as manifested in a wild or aggressive way.

I hate the word crazy when it comes to mental health. It’s the epitome of mental health stigma. People believe that just because someone has a mental illness, that they are “crazy and will kill someone.” While obviously that has happened in the past, it doesn’t ring true for a lot of the mental health community.

Most people that suffer from a mental illness, like myself, do not want to hurt or harm others. I can’t speak for others on some of this, but for me, the only person I’ve ever thought about harming was myself

I’ve been asked (indirectly, might I add) to stop working with children at my church because of my mental illness. I’ve been called many names, including “batsh*t crazy.” I’ve been stigmatized, and I admit: I don’t know how to handle it.

I try to put it in the back of my mind, but it always makes it way back to the front. I try to play it off like it didn’t or doesn’t bother me, but it always did and continues to.

Depression is such a nightmare. Not even just depression, though. Every single mental illness diagnosis in the world is a 100% NIGHTMARE.

Last year when I was talking to my doctor, I told him what was going on with me and then told him, “I hate the word crazy, but I know I sound crazy when I tell you all of what’s going on with me.” He then proceeded to tell me, “You’re not crazy. You’re a regular, normal person who is going through a hard time.” That hit me like a brick wall and I’ll never forget it.

I remember walking out of his office trying not to cry because I hate crying in front of people. But when I got to the car, I let it out. Here was someone who I had just met only a month or two prior to that visit that didn’t think I was full blown crazy. 

People I had known for years or all my life called me crazy, but not Dr. B. He showed empathy. I’ll never forget what he said to me. I remember even telling my mom what he said and after a few seconds of silence, she said, “Wow.” Neither of us knew how to handle it. I had never heard such a kind, gentle statement made to me about my mental illness.

I’m not crazy. We’re not crazy. We’re humans with a problem invisible to the blind eye. But we need help just like someone with cancer needs help. Obviously different kinds of help. But both are invisible. Stop treating us like we’re not human.

We’re not crazy.

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