—
Andy Behrman knows firsthand that for men, there are few things more taboo than admitting to mental illness.
***
More than 25% of men suffer with mental illness, although the number may be even higher because so many cases go undiagnosed and therefore unreported. In many cases, men would rather turn to alcohol and street drugs than to admit to suffering with mental illness and seek treatment. Men are also less likely than women to say, “I can’t meet you today, I have an appointment with my psychiatrist.” Men just don’t discuss their diagnoses, therapy or their psych meds openly with their partners, family and friends, not to mention their colleagues or employers. There’s a tremendous amount of shame associated with mental illness as it conjures up frightening images of weakness.
Admitting to struggling with depression, bipolar disorder, anxiety, panic attacks, or less frequently, schizophrenia, is a shameful secret that is killing American men every day. Suicide is the eleventh leading cause of death in the United States and 90% of men who take their lives are battling mental illness.
“Mental illness is not a casserole illness; don’t expect people to be stopping by with food.”
|
But telling your girlfriend, your wife, your partner, your family and your friends, although it’s scary (these people may literally run or disappear from your life), is a critical first step in not only acknowledging your own illness but also in seeking the much needed support which can help you get well. Fighting mental illness alone is a losing battle. When you’re battling cancer, there’s no issue at calling in the troops: girlfriends, wives, family, friends and your entire support system, including colleagues and employers. But as someone once told me, “Mental illness is not a casserole illness; don’t expect people to be stopping by with food.” People stay away because of their lack of knowledge and fear of mental illness, but it should not get in the way of your sharing your battle with people who can really be of tremendous support.
***
During my crisis years, nobody knew anything was really wrong with me and I actively hid my illness from people. I was experiencing a wild roller coaster ride of euphoric highs and desperate lows that constantly put my life in jeopardy, but my disability was invisible. And I preferred it that way.
Granted, I was behaving erratically, flying from New York to Tokyo to Paris on business three to four times a month, counterfeiting art and smuggling tens of thousands of dollars back into the United States. At the same time, I was drinking heavily and indulging in drugs and alcohol as a way of self-medicating my mental illness, engaging in sex with complete strangers I met in bars and clubs, staying up for days on end, and in general living on the edge. Yet the disability itself remained invisible to family, friends and colleagues. I so wanted to share this secret with so many people, but this was an abstract and invisible illness and I didn’t have a clue as to how to explain it.
I was also convinced I could beat my mental illness by engaging in compulsive diet and exercise, thinking somehow that I could “find a balance.” But despite how many sit-ups, pushups and hours I spent in the gym on the treadmill and lifting weights, I wasn’t getting better. In fact, I was getting much worse.
People were convinced I was functioning just fine because I was efficient, productive, and successful. I had everybody fooled with my illness. While my bipolar disorder remained undiagnosed, I secretly wished that my disability would be a physical one, one which people would actually notice. I wished for a broken arm that people could see. Maybe people would be supportive and help me if I had diabetes or, God forbid, cancer. Maybe I needed to show up to the next family function in a wheelchair to get somebody’s attention.
***
Once I was diagnosed, though, and given what I referred to as my “death sentence,” things changed quickly. No, my family and friends did not come rushing to my side to support me in battling against my illness. It was only a fantasy of mine that this was going to happen.
The stigma of my disorder was almost as bad as having to come to terms with the fact that I was mentally ill and needed treatment. And the stigma, I realize now, “started” with me. I initiated it. It was a result of my own naiveté at age 28. When the doctor diagnosed me and used the term “bipolar disorder,” I really had no idea what he was talking about.
I was under the impression that the illness was degenerative and that I might not live to see my next birthday. I asked the doctor how many other people there were like me and he told me about 2.5 million people in the United States alone–that statistic today is closer to 5.5 million.
My doctor tried to calm me down and talk me through the diagnosis, but I was self-stigmatized by my new label. And then, of course, he had to remind me that I was now part of a category of people called “the mentally ill.” Oh, God. I was a lunatic, a freak, a psycho, a crack-up, and a mental case.
When I left his office on the Upper East Side of Manhattan and walked home across Central Park that snowy morning, I imagined being forced to have electroshock therapy like Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. I persuaded myself that I was overreacting, taking this too far. That could never happen to me. But actually, I wasn’t taking it too far. Less than three years later I found myself in the operating room of a psychiatric hospital in Manhattan, lying on a gurney with electrodes attached to my head and receiving electroshock treatments, 200 volts of electricity running through my brain.
The stigma first hit me in the outside world with a little help from the written prescription my doctor gave me. It was filled out for medications thought to control my bipolar. On seeing it, my own neighborhood pharmacist remarked, “Your doctor’s putting you on all of this medication? Are you okay?” I didn’t respond. I paid for my four prescription drugs and left the pharmacy wondering exactly what he meant by “all of this.”
Was I some sort of “mental case” because I was now taking four different medications? Did the pharmacist know something about my condition that I didn’t know? And did he have to say it in such a loud voice, just hours after my diagnosis? No, he didn’t. That was unkind. It seemed that even the pharmacist had an issue with mentally ill patients and trust me, mentally ill patients in Manhattan were the bread and butter of his business.
But I still had to tell people about my diagnosis. My girlfriend of seven years had already broken up with me (in part due to my erratic behavior) so I knew I had to approach my family and friends if I wanted support and help.
My biggest challenge, in my head, was that I couldn’t even draw a picture of this “thing” called bipolar disorder. I looked good. In fact, I looked really good. Would anybody believe I was mentally ill?
I waited a week until I got up the nerve to ask my parents to dinner. I took them for a meal at one of their favorite restaurants. They seemed suspicious. Did I have something to tell them? They automatically assumed I was in some sort of trouble. I quickly spilled the beans. “Mom, Dad, I’ve been diagnosed as bipolar by a psychiatrist,” I said. There was a long silence. It’s as if I’d told them that I had two months to live Interestingly, they had the same reaction that I had when my doctor told me.
Next, a million questions: “Are you sure?” “Where did it come from?” “What’s going to happen to you?” Although they didn’t come out and say it, they seemed concerned that I was going to lose my mind. Oh, God. Their son had a mental illness. Was I going to end up living with them for the rest of their lives? And of course, they wanted to know if it was genetic. My telling them that it was didn’t exactly make for a pleasant conclusion to the dinner. Not only were they now faced with the stigma that their son had a mental illness, but the stigma that mental illness ran in the family.
With friends, it was easier to break the news. They seemed to know more about bipolar disorder and were supportive of my getting well and staying on a medication regimen. But all hell broke loose when medication didn’t manage my illness and I opted for the last resort, electroshock therapy (ECT).
My friends now had not just a mentally ill friend but a severely mentally ill friend who had to be hospitalized and shocked to maintain an even keel. This was too much for some to handle, and those people simply disappeared. Nobody seemed to want a friend who was now officially a psychiatric patient and, after electroshock, an almost certain zombie.
In fact, everybody seemed frightened of me, including my neighbors, my landlord, and shopkeepers who I had known for years. They all looked at me funny and tried to avoid making eye contact with me. I, however, was extremely up-front. I told them all about my illness and was able to explain my symptoms as well as my treatment to them. “Have faith, one day I’m going to be just fine,” I seemed to cry out inside. “I’m still the same Andy. I’ve just slipped a bit.”
As there weren’t many who knew much about my mental illness, a lot of people had the attitude that I had the capability to “kick it” and get better instantly. This was the most frustrating attitude for me. My bipolar disorder was ravaging my life. But because nobody could see it, many people thought it was a figment of my imagination. Soon I started thinking this too. But when the symptoms, including the racing thoughts, hallucinations, and sleepless nights were out of control, the fact that I had been diagnosed as being really ill was reassuring.
***
When I met the woman I was going to marry, I was upfront about my bipolar disorder. That was easy for several reasons. First, I had just written a memoir about my battle with bipolar disorder (one of the first written by a man), with which she was familiar and second, her own mother’s life had been ravaged by mental illness. Her mother had taken her life the month before we met. My bipolar disorder was not a factor in her deciding to marry me and to have two children with me nor was it a factor in our divorce, until it became a convenient excuse for our marital problems and her concerns later about my being a father, both of which were proven to be unfounded. Oddly, stigma kicked me in the ass again.
When I was ready to get well and had enlisted as much help as possible from family and friends, I started viewing my illness like it was a cancer eating away at me and I fought back. I dealt with it like it was any physical illness. I followed a medication regimen, as well as my doctor’s orders, worked tirelessly with my therapist and just tried not to pay attention to others’ ignorant opinions about my illness. But mostly, I fought it alone, one day at a time, and I eventually won the battle.
Today, my bipolar disorder has been stabilized for almost fifteen years, but I remain vigilant about it, I know what can set off my mania and I also live knowing that it lurks behind every corner. It’s this vigilance that keep my bipolar disorder in check and it’s my sharing my illness with friends, families and so many other people which keeps it “locked up.”
The people who love you will not only understand your mental illness but if you’re lucky, will join you in everything you need to do to cope and manage with it on a daily basis.
—
***
Check out ShareSpace, a well-being communication space for mental health improvement and personal growth based on sharing, learning and engaging with experts and each other.
On a mobile device? Click here to download the ShareSpace app now!
***
photo: Shutterstock
—
Bravo for speaking out, Andy! I wish that more people would have said something sooner so that our daughter didn’t have to suffer for two years before we (and that includes doctors and therapists) figured out that she suffered from bipolar disorder. I like to compare the disease to diabetes: you have it for life, but it can be managed. It doesn’t have to control or rule you, nor is it a death sentence.
My daughter’s boyfriend struggles with mental health issues, and he told her everything the night they met. When they had been dating for just a few weeks, he sat down with me and walked me through the “highlights” of his life before diagnosis and treatment, even pulling up his long-ago criminal history and offering to answer any questions I had. He taught us his triggers and how to respond if trouble arose. It wasn’t always easy (and still isn’t, more than a year in), but it would have been impossible had he not been so incredibly forthcoming and so willing… Read more »
Friends and family were more accepting of my TBI (traumatic brain injury) than of my emotional challenges. It may be that PTSD ( finally diagnosed after several misdiagnosis) is too vague a spectrum…or that the lack of social tools out there to facilitate the process…but I find that now at 66 years old…ALL my family has pretty much kicked me to the curb….and avoid me as if they owed me money. It seems to me that since they do not understand the problem they misinterpret their rolls. From their comments and dismissive behavior it feels like they think I am… Read more »
I know many people with a bipolar diagnosis who handle it very well. When I met a new guy who shared he had the disorder, I thought I could deal with it. A few weeks into the relationship, I realized that not only did he pick and choose when he would take his medicine, and he got blackout drunk often. He blamed all his bad behavior on bipolar disorder. But it wasn’t the bipolar that was the real problem, it was the alcohol. I ended it, and felt that he really gave people with bipolar disorder a bad reputation.
Thanks for sharing your story. On my personal opinion you better hide it and fight it by yourself. The frustration that you get by the opinion of the uninformed only make it worst.
at least masturbation is sex with someone you love presumably…
I’d like to point out that in some cultures, everything is a casserole illness. My Nonna (Grandmother) thinks that a tray of lasagna is the solution to everything. Cold – lasagna, hangnail – lasagna, and especially my bipolar symptoms – lasagna. I think that once friends and family understand how debilitating bipolar disorder is, it becomes a “casserole illness”. I’ve had various people bake/cook things for me over the past few months which have been a choppy time for me symptom-wise. So there you go, is bipolar disorder is a “casserole illness”‘ you just have to be Italian, pizane!
Just read this and it is amazing. Even though written from a man, i can so identify with lots of what you have written.
I cannot see it happening at the moment but it has a happy ending (but it is so not like a story!)
I would like to say what to I do to get to that point,but i know that it is not that easy.,
I find it so difficult to share it with my family and friends, cos whatever i say/do and even if they try i just dont fee they understand
Ginny
There are definitely many of these, ladies and men downside to through the help of strategy is you may still have to waste premium rate, and the class could be significantly more limited considering that the hands are likely to be tied in connection with the dealership buys they have because of the suppliers. The tactic to particular some of product flawlessness is almost always to eliminate attractions and be accepted as satisfied with similar resources and materials related to Chanel equipment rather than.
Excellent read..well spoken and eager to read your book. I am rather perplexed at the comments here offering advice and telling you how you should or should not speak about your illness. Did they overlook your credentials and accomplishments? Do they feel more qualified than you to advise you on your illness? It just pisses me off when I see this. Please, please continue doing what you do and I thank you!
Amazing story. Bipolar disorder is not a casserole disease, love that saying. I’ll borrow it.
Sorry to hear that you had to go through all this. As someone who has bipolar disorder themselves I know how it feels to go through those things and have people think I’m fine because I was working so damn hard not to let it show. I thought everyone was the same and I just couldn’t cope with it as well, that I was weak. Now I know I have bipolar its almost a relief as I realised that the majority of people I knew were NOT going through the same things and just coping better, they didn’t get them… Read more »
I can’t imagine keeping this a secret from a partner or close family member. It’s not as if they haven’t seen symptoms and it can help them understand. My husband was diagnosed with bipolar about 10 years ago and he’d had symptoms since he was a teenager. Giving it a name gave us power. I joined support groups and studied everything I could get my hands on to help me understand what he was going through and what I could do to support him. He couldn’t really describe it to me, I had to find the words and ask him… Read more »
Brave, brave story….! Thank you for sharing your struggle….some of the people closest to me in my life, I think, are bipolar (diagnosed and undiagnosed)…..and, yes, how terrible it is when they self-medicate….and drink and drug…and get into fights….rather than go see a mental heath professional…. It was scary for me to see it up close….in the end, I could not stick around to watch if someone refused to get help….many times I have tried desperately to help, which in retrospect, I was probably acting as an enabler….I have learned the hard way that the best thing for me is… Read more »
Exellent article! Even if you’re fortunate enough to be able to discuss your problems with others (in my world it’s still ‘taboo’) it’s still a lonely one person battle. Some days it’s like you’re stuck next to someone who you really can’t stand at a party say. You hit the bar for more than you’d usually drink perhaps. But it still doesn’t make it any easier to put up with this person who seems to have you cuckoled. It really frustrates the shit out of you. Now imagine this person is the one looking back at you in the mirror.
Hey Andy
Once again great thoughts! Yes this IS an ILLNESS! That’s what I tell ppl coz that’s what it is. I tell ppl I trust my Rx and what Orleans and how they can help. & yes my ex played the stigma card when she found someone more desireable. I’m very fortunate in that my faith has given me alot of very supportive friends who continue to make every effort to understand and help.
All the best brother, I have great respect for you. Keep well
Peter
This was such an excellent piece. When I learned I had PTSD, I told the people closest to me. I found out who my friends and family were very very quickly. It’s true that most people will leave you to your own devices. But you’ll also learn who won’t. Some of the support I got–my wife and brother–did not surprise me. But some of it was utterly surprising and unexpected. I also discovered zen and yoga. In short, it was a transformation, a cleansing of toxicity. If you can find the courage to admit your illness, it’ll reap rewards. You… Read more »
I am completely opposed to these people who tell you that you should not talk about your diagnosis. Keeping everything in shameful ignorance will not help things change. I’m really glad you are writing about your experiences.
It is hard writing about mental illness (I do a lot of it) because for us, this is our normal. What does it mean to be “ill”? What does it mean that I have to care what other people think of my brain chemistry? Bah.
I comfort myself with the belief that no one actually has it easy. Good luck on your journey.
I’m with you, Krissy.
Hi Krissy To have some privacy is not exactly the same as keeping everything in shameful ignorance. Surely. I have tried both strategies in my life. What works best depend on where in the world you live and what diagnoses you are given. It is my firm belief and experience that the only persons that understand when you share your diagnoses are other with the same diagnoses and those qualified to give them. And few are qualified to give diagnoses . Very few. Instead I prefer that a person tell me how he or she feels and what it is… Read more »
This is something I have always struggled with in my relationships. I have done it soon and done it later…
I was diagnosed ten years into my marriage. We’re now heading into year 20 and my husband is beginning to wonder if he can handle the recurring depressive episodes (and mania) over the long haul.
So much for support.
I was reading the comments, re: not calling this an illness and gluten sensitivity. I consider myself to have an illness. That is how I conceive of what has happened to me, and it works for me. There is no one path into madness – for some it is genetic and for others there is trauma that sets it off. It is unhelpful and unsympathetic to imply that there is one way to understand and deal with mental health issues. To say that no psychiatrist is helpful is untrue, in the same way saying all psychiatrists are helpful is. To… Read more »
This is exactly what I was thinking, but you phrased it much better than I would have!
Overall, this is an excellent article. I want to read your book now!
Mental illness can be the result of many underlying causes. Yes, it’s very sad that people react the way that they do–with fear. I was bipolar and hospitalized five times for manic/psychotic episodes. I discovered that the root cause for me was gluten sensitivity, autoimmune thyroiditis, intestinal dysbiosis and the resulting nutritional deficiencies. I have been free and clear of bipolar disorder since 1985 and without the use of drugs. There will always be some fearful people around. I would encourage anyone struggling with mental illness to do the necessary research, testing and diet/lifestyle changes to get really well. Then… Read more »
More than 25% of the male population suffers with mental illness?
Is it more likely that such a chunk of the population is medically sick, or that the term “mental illness” is expanding to cover a significant portion of the variations of the normal human population? Some people are truly medically ill, but a quarter of everyone?
Maybe there’s a conflict of interests in leaving the definition of mental illness up to people who see everything through the lens of abnormal psychology and bill by the hour to treat it?
Andy
I see what stote I sound cold and uncaring. Forgive me.
But you see I have a life long experience with this as well.
And I am not the only one that has abandoned the concept memtall illness .
http://www.madinamerica.com/2013/05/psychiatrists-under-fire-in-the-uk-does-mental-illness-really-exist/
Try Bringchange2mind
Typo
I wanted to write:
” you take it for granted that your family and friends are qualified to understand diagnoses”