Shame

 At my most rational, I approach being diagnosed with a mental illness as a chance event that happened to me. Based on what I know of current research, it had a lot to do with genetics and with something in my environment—perhaps a virus, perhaps stress, nobody knows for sure. But what is clear is that it is not my fault. I hardly intended this, and I have been trying to deal with its arising in a responsible way. So far so good.

But I, like most people, am not always rational. Since having a bad bout of delusions and hallucinations five to seven years ago from which I've recovered, I have moments of searing shame. They are usually triggered by a memory of some minor rudeness or inconsideration on my part from years ago. I first cringe at my minor failing and then think, "Everybody hates me." I may partly think this from paranoia, I don't know. But then I need to work myself out of the hole.

I was talking to my therapist about this last time we met. We concluded that I am projecting onto others some degree of self hatred and shame. I assume people hate me because, at certain times and in certain ways, I hate myself. Why? Because I have a diagnosis. At times, I feel deep shame and self disdain for being a man with a mental illness. I don't feel good about myself when these times occur.

My therapist made a good point. She said that of course I would feel this way sometimes because I am just echoing the stigma towards mental illness in the greater society. People fear us and hate us. Generally, most people only hear about mental illness in the rare instances when someone commits a crime. And this is rare: the vast majority of people with mental illness are not violent or dangerous and, in fact, are in greater danger of being a victim of a violent crime than neurotypicals. That said, the perceived link between mental illness and violence is strong, even if undeserved.

I think my therapist is right. When I feel this shame, the derision the larger society feels towards people like me is just blowing right through me. Her advice was to notice the feeling, acknowledge it, examine it fully, and then notice what else is going on in my life. This is good advice: these feelings of shame will never go away. They come with the territory of being an aware person with mental illness.

In my case, the feelings are magnified by my knowing I never came close to realizing my early promise in the race of life. As a student, I was poised to have a conventionally successful life. Instead, in middle age I came very close to being homeless as a result of my delusions. Part of me blames myself for this situation, however irrationally.

Would I blame myself if I had muscular sclerosis or some other disabling physical illness? Probably. But it probably wouldn't be so acute. Society pities people who have physical difficulties; it doesn't fear and shirk them. It is impossible to shut out entirely the voices around you. And sometimes they speak right through me.

That said, I am happy to report that most of the time I get on just fine without shame. I enjoy my day by associating with friends, writing, reading, listening to music and so on. But there are those uncomfortable moments. I don't like them. But I will always have to deal with them. Stigma against the mentally ill will not go away any time soon.