Three things I've learned about my mental health

1. I used to minimise my problems. 

Nobody wants to be friends with a serial complainer, do they? At least, that's how I felt. The last thing I wanted to be was a party pooper, the kind of person who sucks all the energy out of the room thanks to their complaining. So I stuck on my 'happy face' and made out I was ok. Even when I wasn't. This led to me downplaying my problems and sometimes denying that I was struggling at all.  
One of the things I've finally realised about living with mental health problems is that I'm not responsible for other people's happiness. While there are still going to be social situations where it's ok to say "fine thanks, how are you?' and swiftly move on, it's also ok for me to say "I'm having a tough time with my mental health at the moment," without feeling guilty. I don't have to worry that my honesty might 'bring them down' because I don't have to be happy or entertaining all of the time. It's not my job to make *them* happy and, with people I know and trust, it's ok to be honest. I don't have to go into detail unless appropriate.

The thing with mental health difficulties is that they're largely hidden. People tend not to know you're living with a problem unless you tell them. Most of us are great at 'faking wellness,' to the point that in cases where a person has sadly taken their own life, their loved ones often say they had no idea there was a problem.

I'm not suggesting that being more honest and speaking out is a magical panacea, but for me, it has improved certain relationships. Letting people in has been an important part of that. Which brings me on to point number 2....

2. I didn’t used to accept help.

I used to be ridiculously difficult to help. At no point would I ever directly ask for support. This included from mental health services. Whether this was pride, embarrassment or fear of letting people in, I don't know. All I can say is that for me, suffering in silence was awful. Letting friends and family help and support me has been a useful counterpoint to those times when my mind tried to trick me into believing I had nobody in my corner. Even when I was experiencing psychotic symptoms and trust went out of the window, people were there for me. Some people supported me emotionally, others practically. I now know that leaning on my family and friends has made them feel more useful. Friends have told me that even when all they can offer me is solidarity and hope for the future, they still want to stand by me. Knowing they're out there, wishing me well has really helped.

When it comes to the involvement of mental health services, I've also been difficult to help. I've dodged services when I probably needed them because I was reluctant to take antipsychotic medication. A friend then suggested that I might be sabotaging my own wellbeing by refusing to accept help. This really made me think. I wasn't consciously doing so, but I conceded that my actions could indeed have that effect.

After several false starts, I was assigned a care coordinator, a psychiatric nurse, who was on my wavelength. We started to look at what worked for me, what helped and how I might go about living an enjoyable, fulfilling life even whilst dealing with mental health problems. I'm still in the early stages but I'm hopeful that this pragmatic approach will work well for me. Letting people help has been surprisingly liberating for me as I no longer have to carry the burden of my difficulties alone.

3. I was unnecessarily tough on myself.

I used to think that if I tried harder, worked at it more and battled through it, I could outrun my mental health problems. Other people said they had successfully beaten them with their personal brand of fortitude, so why couldn't I? Lately I've come to realise the blindingly obvious: that I am not them. We don't share the same biology, psychology, history, background or social circumstances. Our difficulties are not our fault. Whether we believe that they're the result of illness or what's happened to us, they *are* and we have to live with the cards we are dealt. Giving ourselves a hard time about not getting 'better' is only ever going to be counterproductive and undermining. So I've learned to go easier on myself and practice a little self compassion and acceptance. Giving up a lifetime of self-criticism isn't easy, but I've found that it's helping.

My problem is not your problem

Having a mental health problem is a bit like being pregnant; people just love to appropriate your experience. Sometimes people talk about what’s happened to them as a means of showing solidarity, which I quite like, as long as it’s not assumed that my experience will automatically be the same. Unfortunately though, all too often this spills over into advice-giving. Oh yes *rolls eyes* people just love to offer their wisdom, whether or not it’s asked for. There’s often an agenda, whether the person realises it or not. Sometimes the agenda is explicit – “you know, things would work out so much better for you if you just…”or “if you try (whatever it is they happen to believe works).” That kind of thing. Unsurprisingly, I have a few things to say on this subject. Firstly, unsolicited ‘advice’ is unwelcome because, well, it’s unsolicited. If I want advice, I’ll ask for it, thank you very much. To assume I am in need of help or advice feels patronising, as though you don’t have confidence in my abilities to source the right kind of help or do what works for me. For all the other person knows, I might be doing it already, have already tried and rejected that approach or simply have enough ideas of my own, thanks. Such ‘helpful’ interventions assume all manner of things that the self-appointed advisor probably doesn’t know, but most importantly, it makes me ask “whose mental health is this?” Because last time I looked, it was mine. More than one ‘helpful’ person has asked me what medication I’m on, or what dose. And they have the temerity to act all offended when I tell them that’s my business. I know it’s well-meaning and I know you “just want to help,” but rather than impose your ideas on others, why not ask “is there anything I can do to help?” Or maybe, you know, offer your services as a listener. The details of my life are not up for discussion unless I choose to make them so. Just because something worked for you doesn’t mean it’ll work for me, or that I necessarily want to try it. I don’t need to be rescued; all I ask is that people be there for me if I need them and maybe just check how I’m getting on from time to time. If I want to talk, I will.