So, I got married nearly 4 months ago (hooray!)
It was quite frankly, the best day of my life and I have never felt so supported and loved by so many people in one room. So much so that I talked quite openly about my anxiety in my wedding speech and how my husband has helped me come to terms with it and learned to deal with it himself. Some guests came up to me afterwards and told me about their own experiences with mental health, some thanked me for being brave enough to talk about it- I was so touched that it meant something to them.
At the wedding, we asked guests to write down their favourite memory of us on a suitcase label and attach it to a 'memory tree' (photo below) – some made us laugh, some made us cry- all were beautiful and generous and it was a joy to look back at what memories our guests have of us, as well as making more amazing memories with them on the day. **Wallows in self-indulgent nostalgia**
One, however, made my blood boil, as is described in the poem below. At the time I felt that the comment written on the back of the suitcase label, aimed at me as a kind of afterthought, showed a complete misunderstanding of what it is to live with a mental health illness and that the fact that I had mentioned it in my wedding speech had provoked such a patronising and frustrating response.
I think it's safe to say that at the time of writing this poem, I slightly jumped the gun in my interpretation of this comment. A few days later, after I'd calmed down- I began to see that this probably wasn't meant in the way that I took it and that it was a genuine attempt to sympathise with me, and perhaps to comfort me. I don't believe it was meant maliciously, or patronisingly.
However, this is not the only difficult attitude I've had to deal with regarding my anxiety. A colleague at work has quite openly told me that he doesn't understand how I can have these 'issues' because I'm married, own a house, am good at my job and seem like I'm pretty chipper most days. In his eyes, these achievements or accolades should cancel out any mental health issues, because a married, seemingly successful house-owner doesn't have any cause to get anxious or depressed.
In the past he has also previously commented that if I just thought more positively, I'd feel happier. Unfortunately, mental health doesn't really work this way. Yes, positive thinking can be beneficial to mental health, as can feeling like you're doing well- but it won't alleviate the issues and it certainly won't make my anxiety go away. When I tried to explain to him that this is not something I can control, he just starting talking over me. Extremely frustrating and frankly, downright rude.
So, because of encounters like these, particularly when I feel like I'm not given the chance to explain what my anxiety is like, I clamber right on top of my high horse and stay there until I've written a stroppy poem (see below).
However, I believe this is the key issue that leads to said clambering, if you want to know what it's like for someone with anxiety, you can ask them (if they're comfortable talking about it) but don't put words in their mouth, don't try and explain your interpretation of what their situation is, and most crucially- listen to THEIR EXPLANATION! You might learn something!
When I wrote this I was absolutely furious at the 'Label writer,' I couldn't believe that someone who works in the NHS could have such a narrow-minded view of mental health (I was forgetting the aforementioned colleague!) But the mentality of 'you shouldn't be doing x, you need to do y and then you would be better' is still there, it's everywhere- and the below is basically my big stroppy, high-horse 'fuck you' to that.
Suitcase Label
Try to feel better, Lizzie.
5 words, hand written on the back of a suitcase label
The front, for him, so many happy memories and triumphs,
The back, for me, are they words of caution or sentiment?
My better brain tells me they are meant kindly, with sympathy
But the anger builds, the injustice and the unfairness
That this comes from a mother, a nurse, a guest
Who should know better
Try to feel better, Lizzie.
Because of course, I could feel better, be better, if I tried
The fabled line from the disappointed teacher
The patronising look down the rim of the glasses
'Could do better.'
And really if you follow this theory down to its crux, its core
What you really mean
Try to feel better, Lizzie.
You're saying that I choose this
I choose anxiety
I choose panic attacks
I choose not to feel better
As if this is something I choose to do myself
Or not do
As if this is something I choose
No one would fucking choose this
