Surviving Mental Illness in Adulthood

Approximately 1 in 5 youth aged 13-18 (21.4%) experiences a severe mental disorder at some point during their adolescence. 

I can't really say I grew up with mental illness from an early age. I don't recall things starting to feel abnormal until I was about 12 or 13 years of age. However, I do know that I have always had problems sleeping. So maybe insomnia was always present. I used to have this tremendous fear of fire. I thought that just about anything and everything would cause a fire. I feared that we would lose our house, and that I was the only one that would make it out alive. So when it came time to fall asleep, not only could I just not fall asleep because my brain didn't allow it, but I couldn't relax because I thought something was going to catch fire. If and when I did actually fall asleep at night, staying asleep didn't exist. I don't know where the fear started from, and I don't remember at what age it began. But I can at least say that the only time I can ever recall sleeping soundly - whether that be falling asleep right away or staying asleep - was when I was about 15 or 16 and began taking an anti-psychotic medication that knocked me out cold. 

I didn't grow up with bipolar disorder or paranoid schizophrenia; I actually don't have either to this day. But many children, who develop a mental illness very early on in life, typically show signs of the two. But my childhood was happy. I felt perfectly fine and normal until I was in the seventh grade.

I remember telling my mom that something didn't feel right when she asked if everything was okay. I was a kid. I had no idea that my neurotransmitters were no longer firing properly and that my hormones and chemicals were way off balance. Heck, I didn't even know what a neurotransmitter was and I had no idea my brain even produced chemicals and hormones. I just knew something inside of my head didn't feel right. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't embarrassed to go to the doctor and begin my journey on medications. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't embarrassed about having to sit down with the school counselor twice a week and my psychotherapist once a week. But I was embarrassed mostly because it was all a new thing, and it wasn’t what the "cool kids" were doing. Honestly, it seemed like everywhere I went and everyone I met, didn't really seem to care or mind, or even have anything to say about any of it. ADD and ADHD are extremely common among adolescents. Children with either developmental disability almost always see a psychiatrist and take medications. Everyone knows that, and the stigma surrounding it isn't too bad. It's just the same surrounding kids who have depression or any other common mental illness. Except most children outgrow both ADD and ADHD once they reach adulthood, and eventually no longer have to see a psychiatrist and take those medications. This, my friends, is where the problem starts.

I, as a child, was expected to grow out of my mental illnesses once I reached adulthood just like almost any other child would do with their developmental disabilities. I felt immense pressure to do well and be better and become normal again once I rounded the bend in my high school career and hit my final year before becoming an adult. Why? Because as an adolescent, my mental illnesses weren't even viewed as mental illnesses; they were viewed as developmental disabilities that I would eventually grow out of.

Here I was becoming an adult, moving out, paying my bills, and taking care of myself and my own responsibilities. Everyone had high hopes for me. Everyone expected things to suddenly be sunshine and rainbows once I hit 18, because only children have mental illness since it's only a developmental issue and not a possible lifelong thing, right? Here I was doing all of the things everyone expected out of me, except I had to sit down and shut up about my mental illnesses because I felt as though I wasn't even allowed to have them any longer.

I still, to this day, see my child psychiatrist. I still, to this day, am on medications. I still, to this day, am in counseling. I still, to this day, deal with the same mental illnesses, as well several others that developed in my adulthood. I am ashamed that I still, to this day, can admit that I see the same guy that society deems as an under-educated "doctor" who only uses his title to make money off of me. I am ashamed that I still, to this day, can admit that I take several of those little pills on a daily basis that society deems as some compacted mixture of crap that the pharmaceutical industry has designed only to say they will fix people like me, but they won't. I am ashamed that I still, to this day, can admit that I sit down with a woman, on a weekly basis, that society deems as unfit to guide me and help me because she too is only there to make money off of me with the promise that she can fix me. I am ashamed that I still, to this day, can admit that not only do I still deal with the same mental illnesses I was diagnosed with all those years ago, but I also deal with several that developed after I turned 18. 

The only reason I am ashamed to admit those things, is because society has made me feel as if my mental illnesses have been invalid since the day I became an adult. My life didn’t turn out the way everyone expected. I was extremely driven, motivated, and energetic about life and all it had to offer. But I didn’t go off to college like everyone wanted, and I’m not motivated like I used to be. I still struggle with daily life. I’m still doing all of the things I used to do - that I apparently should have stopped doing the day I turned 18 - that I now need to continue doing in order to heal and recover. It’s almost like I let everyone down by not being able to flip a switch in my brain and snap out of what they thought was just a “phase.”

But let me set something straight.

My psychiatrist, at any given moment after I turned 18, could have sent me on my way. He specializes in psychiatry for adolescents, something that I no longer am. But he chose to continue treating me and continue educating me, not because he views me and my illnesses as a bag of money, but because he is the most patient, compassionate, understanding, and sympathetic psychiatrist I have yet to come across. He wants to help me and he wants to see me better. I am the one who makes the decision to continue seeing him and to continue filling my prescriptions. He, in no way, makes me feel like I have to do those things. My medications are my choice and the pharmaceutical industry does not have me brain washed. Trust me when I say that none of you want to see me or interact with me when I am not on medication, because for me, medications actually work. Brace yourselves for this one; my therapist, the person that everyone seems to view as some lady that has no idea what she's talking about and ruins people's lives in return for money? I don't pay her. And no, my insurance doesn't pay her either. Shocker, isn't it? This woman is someone who has known me since I was in my mother's womb. She has been a part of my life since the day she looked down at my face some 22 years ago. This woman, out of the kindness and compassion of her own heart, counsels through the church and counsels me just because. She's not there for my money. She, like my psychiatrist, wants to see me better and wants to help me get there. 

But now, if I was a child, still under the age of 18, I wouldn't have to explain those things. I wouldn't have to sit here and explain all of that to society, because as a child, all of those things are normal to do. It was normal for me to see those people, and it was normal for me to be on medication. I have a hard time trying to understand why it's so different now that I am an adult. If anything, adulthood is the problem.

Adulthood is exhausting. Or maybe it's only exhausting because of my mental illnesses. I don't know, and I may never know. All I know is that everyone has always told me adulthood is exhausting and stressful. They were right. Except adulthood has also been the best years of my life so far. As exhausting and stressful as it is, I have enjoyed being able to take care of myself and take myself on trips around the world and treat myself. In the midst of it all, I still have to deal with the ever-lingering mental illnesses. I can't ignore them just because society thinks they should have gone away years ago. But if I'm being told that adulthood is stressful and exhausting, and I in return come back at them with the fact that my mental illnesses are still present, and the newly developed illnesses are a partial result of adulthood, I am judged, scolded, misunderstood, and stigmatized. I am allowed to be an adult and be exhausted and stressed, but I'm not allowed to have mental illness as a partial result of those things? Quite frankly, I don't understand it one bit, and I actually want to incoherently scream for a few minutes because of it.

I have to wake up every single day, slap that smile on my face that so many people say lights up a room, make myself look presentable, and go about my day as if nothing is wrong even though all of my chemicals and hormones are off balanced, and my neurotransmitters don’t fire properly; but I am now an adult, and adults aren’t supposed to have mental illness. By the end of every single day, I am exhausted from having to pretend that my brain suddenly transitioned properly into adulthood just as my body and maturity did, all because society and stigma say that's the way it's supposed to be.

Having mental illness as a child was simple; it was actually quite easy. Get up every day, take your meds, head to school, basically ignore how you felt because you didn't know how to identify any of it; walk out of class early one day a month because it was time to go see the psychiatrist about those meds you took that morning. Sit and talk with him and mom for a solid hour, then head home. Can't forget about those weekly sessions with the psychotherapist, and maybe the occasional questions to answer that the people around you would ask. You answer, and go about your day, because no one thought anything of it. No one thought anything of any of it because you were a child and that made mental illness normal.

I didn't feel out of place back then, because no one shamed me for it. But I sure as heck do now, and people sure as heck shame me for it now. 

I don’t like being an adult with mental illness. I don’t like knowing there is such a large stigma behind it all. I don’t like having to deal with the nasty remarks or the disrespectful comments. I don’t like dealing with the judgement or assumptions. I don’t like any of it.

I am an adult that unfortunately, never “grew out of” her mental illness. But I am also an adult that has still made something of herself despite having mental illness. I am an adult that is fighting with her life and every ounce of her strength to win this war. I am an adult that hopes to one day live a life without mental illness, with the normality I used to feel as a child before it all started. I am not supposed to feel ashamed to have mental illness as an adult.

If you or someone you know needs support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, or text START to 741-741

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