One of the scariest things about mental illness is that it's a Big Secret. People tend to discuss mental illness when it manifests itself in paricularly scary ways: homeless people chasing you on the San Francisco sidewalk, successful, highly functional grown ups taking their lives when the pain is too great. The day to day side of the mental illness, the humors, the small tragedies, the ironies, are Big Secrets (and also, what I hope to capture in this blog).
Last week, something happened to expose my Big Secret at work.
It has been a challenge for me to remember to take my medication, so I now set an alarm for 7:30pm each night and no matter where I am or what I am doing, stop to take them (well, the system isn't perfect but that is the theory). To better accomplish this goal, I keep a set of medications in my work bag so that if I'm driving home, or grabbing dinner, I can still maintain my routine. The other day, I was attending a meeting in my director's office and one of my medicine bottles fell out of my bag. I didn't realize it was gone until 7:30 that night, when unfortunately I was still at the office. My first thought was not of the lost pills, or the potential expense and hassle, but of where that incriminately bottle with its incriminating label might be waiting to expose my Big Secret. And there it was, sitting for all the world to see, a small, clear orange whisteblower. Drink plenty of water with this medication, the bottle said in large letters, but it could not have said Anushka has a Big Secret with more clarity.
What could I do? The office was locked. I was working from another location the next day. I drove home, took two pills from my at home bottles, and dreamt of stigmatization and humiliation. Did the story have a happy ending? Did the bottle develop tiny little orange feet and waddle to the nearest biomedical waste bin? Did someone pick it up, and were they in that moment enlightened on the plight of the mentally ill? Did they rush to my apartment in San Francisco to envelop me in the love, kindness, and most of all, acceptance that I yearn for in this area of my life? Not quite. I'm not sure how the story ended. I'm not sure if my director, who I respect and admire greatly, saw the bottle, the name on the bottle, or the name of the medication on the bottle. But someone did. On Monday morning, the bottle was sitting next to my keyboard, still orange, stil damning.
I've narrowed the list of people who could have moved it to three or four; the director and those who most often visit her office. Do I look at those people differently? Do I wonder which of them holds my secret, or if that person even cares? I don't. I couldn't live like that. They can sort through their own knowledge their own way. All I can do is hope that this little misstep on my end earns me either compassion, understanding, or nothing at all, and does not cost me professionally in the future. That, and keep protecting my Big Secret.
Last week, something happened to expose my Big Secret at work.
It has been a challenge for me to remember to take my medication, so I now set an alarm for 7:30pm each night and no matter where I am or what I am doing, stop to take them (well, the system isn't perfect but that is the theory). To better accomplish this goal, I keep a set of medications in my work bag so that if I'm driving home, or grabbing dinner, I can still maintain my routine. The other day, I was attending a meeting in my director's office and one of my medicine bottles fell out of my bag. I didn't realize it was gone until 7:30 that night, when unfortunately I was still at the office. My first thought was not of the lost pills, or the potential expense and hassle, but of where that incriminately bottle with its incriminating label might be waiting to expose my Big Secret. And there it was, sitting for all the world to see, a small, clear orange whisteblower. Drink plenty of water with this medication, the bottle said in large letters, but it could not have said Anushka has a Big Secret with more clarity.
What could I do? The office was locked. I was working from another location the next day. I drove home, took two pills from my at home bottles, and dreamt of stigmatization and humiliation. Did the story have a happy ending? Did the bottle develop tiny little orange feet and waddle to the nearest biomedical waste bin? Did someone pick it up, and were they in that moment enlightened on the plight of the mentally ill? Did they rush to my apartment in San Francisco to envelop me in the love, kindness, and most of all, acceptance that I yearn for in this area of my life? Not quite. I'm not sure how the story ended. I'm not sure if my director, who I respect and admire greatly, saw the bottle, the name on the bottle, or the name of the medication on the bottle. But someone did. On Monday morning, the bottle was sitting next to my keyboard, still orange, stil damning.
I've narrowed the list of people who could have moved it to three or four; the director and those who most often visit her office. Do I look at those people differently? Do I wonder which of them holds my secret, or if that person even cares? I don't. I couldn't live like that. They can sort through their own knowledge their own way. All I can do is hope that this little misstep on my end earns me either compassion, understanding, or nothing at all, and does not cost me professionally in the future. That, and keep protecting my Big Secret.
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