"Q" is for Quarter Life Crisis

I remember growing up hearing about people who have entered a mid-life crisis.  At the time, it referred to those who had reached their 50^th birthday and are suddenly aware of the passing of time, and their youth is fading away.  Men would buy a sports car to help them feel young again, women would turn to cosmetic surgery to regain a younger look; this would all come about as the year slipped by them seemingly without notice.  Today, however, there is a change in the term and a “quarter life-crisis,” is being used to explain the uncertainty that young adults graduated encounter after college and face the world for the first time on their own.  The quarter life crisis seems to occur between the ages of 25 and 35; it is in this time frame that they face the most pressure to succeed, get married and start a family.

To break it down, the first five years of life are spent at home, or in a day care learning the basics of this world and how to function in it.  Then it is off to school for the next 12 years, at least, 16 or more if college is the choice after high school.  So by age 22 all we have known is school and rules, there has not been much in the way of real-life experience. 

Suddenly, we are thrown into this world, with loans to pay, a new life to create and there are no guidelines anymore to follow, no lesson plan or teacher to ask questions too.  Panic sets in and the desire to retreat is first in the mind.  Young people today face more stress, with expectations being put on them that at times seem unreasonable.  This is the time when the mind seems to change, and the desire comes to pursue a dream instead of becoming just another worker in a sea of cubicles. 

What is important is happiness, contentment and a sense of accomplishment is what you do, and finding your true purpose.  For young adults today that seems impossible; with demands and opinions being thrown at them from every direction, it is no wonder they feel pressured and in crisis. 

I have listened to my daughter talk about how she feels right now, the future it ahead of her and is so uncertain that causes  her to worry, maybe needlessly, after we have all been there.  I think we can all admit though that things are different and with each generation the “life-crisis” may change, but in the end, we all struggle with what tomorrow will bring, no matter what age we are.

Supporting Mental Health Advocacy

What a way to start this new challenge than with what is closest to me right now, Mental Health Advocacy, more importantly eliminating the stigma that comes with the diagnosis.  I think often that most people would be surprised to know how many people they interact with daily are diagnosed with some type of mental illness. 

Watch the news on any given day and there is sure to be an act of violence, neglect, or public incident that will be immediately be related to the person’s mental state.  It is this type of news stories that have shown that anyone with these illnesses should be put away and not allowed in society.  

This is much of the reason I am silent about my illness, or have been – until now.  I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder in 1996, to say the journey has been a rocky one is an understatement.  I have been lucky to be admitted to the hospital only twice, and I have fought with everything I have to stay healthy, listen to my doctors and learn as much as I can.   It’s complicated though, at least for me, not only am I Bipolar, but also live PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Traumatic Stress Disorder) , Anxiety, DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder), and OCD (Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder).   To me, it simply means I have more letters after my name than most doctors, and for some reason, my brain was wired wrong.  The PTSD and DID, unfortunately, result from years of severe abuse, and from what I have learned does play a hand in my other disorders.

I thought for a long time that I had to hide who I was, wear a mask so to speak, but over the years, I have begun to find by hiding who I really was I was losing myself.  I am NOT my illness; I am a person who wants to live and enjoy each day and fight with everything I have to stop the stigma and ugliness that come from the admittance of mental illness.

In October 2013, a Chicago Bears wide receiver was fined for a uniform violation.  His crime you ask?  Since October is Breast Cancer Awareness month players were required to wear pink, instead he chose to wear green cleats in honor of Mental Health Awareness Week.   He stood up for what he believed was right, in support of someone he cares about and was punished for it.  I give him a standing ovation, and I believe many have as a way of saying thanks for doing what many of us can’t. 

With each day, I hope that we come another step closer to stopping the ignorance and stigma that are directed to those who are not able to speak for themselves and accept one another for who we are.  Everyone has a story and it is time I told mine.  Will you be the next to stand up? 

What does Mental Illness look like to you?

Image by Ilja via Flickr

Twisting and turning with nowhere to go, running from fear that no one can hear.  Hidden well in the depths of our souls searching for answers that only we can know.  We live in our minds, a place of confusion, hoping for understanding, though we dare not speak its name.  It controls our days and keeps us awake at night.  It is responsible for dark circles and hunger as it eats away at our souls. 

To the outside world, we pretend we are strong, that we are alive and ready for adventure, when in reality for us, it is always Halloween – we wear the mask of confusion and let others interpret it as they wish. Until then, we wear the mask, stumble through our days and look for the light that only we can see, the light that will guide us out of the confusion and into a life, we desire to live, full of rainbows and blue skies and the clear direction we so desperately need.    

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Are you living behind your own mask?

Image via Wikipedia

Masks:

I’m frightened.  I’m unsure, because of what you might think of me, because of what some of you might say about me.  What you think and say, the way you act influences me.  I act as if they don’t, but they do.  Maybe you are frightened too.  Maybe the ones who will mock me the most signify the most frightened, I’m unsure.

You go by me day after day, you have activities near me, you even sit by me (though not too near, as if afraid of being misunderstood), but you don’t know me.  You form your opinions without real information.  You take the mask and try to declare the person, no, less than that, if you even understood the mask, you might glimpse the person.  How much time would it take?  How much effort?  I’m tired of hiding and I disrespect myself for sitting quietly, watching this happen to myself and to others.

We cross-space, glimpse a mask, or an opinion, and hurry along our way.  I am guilty, as are you.

What if, suddenly, we see one another for who we are?  The mask drops for an instant, followed by an embarrassed silence, a mumbled apology for being human.  Quickly we alter the subject or hurry away, frightened of what might befall us and perhaps frightened that it never will.  How many are there?  Am I one or many?  What will it take to change?  Maybe it will take only one.

By:  R.H. (1999)