Sunday, May 20, 2012

...Or Don't Come to Class

In high school, I had a teacher or two who'd kick you out of class if you hadn't done the reading. If you hadn't put the work in, they implied, you wouldn't get much out of the lesson anyway and could actually hold your fellow students back.

There's a lot of emphasis on the mentally ill to do our homework. We're supposed to understand our diagnosis, our variable body chemistry, our medications and their effects, and of course, the effects that we have on those we love. Some of us don't take care of these things. It's not just side effects that cause our life expectancies to be 20-30 years shorter than everyone else's. But some of us do. Some of us try super hard, and sometimes we're met with an unexpected result.

Like the teacher who goes back to graduate school and struggles to turn his own assignments in on time, it can be difficult for our loved ones to appreciate that they have homework too. There's a certain type of perceived heroism in supporting someone who is mentally ill, in holding their hands, in wiping your tears away bravely. Some people feel that they are special or caring because they do this, and they probably are. And (see those skills there) they  have homework too. 

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