Online Exhibitionism

My psychoanalyst wants to know if I'll ever merge all the various pieces of my life into one persona.

The Artist, the Writer, the Student, the Bisexual Lover, the Bipolar Schizophrenic....

Nope, I said. I can't imagine anybody in my city that would be comfortable around all the parts of me. Maybe I am naive, or ignorant, or both, but is there a special soul out there who would be okay with me the way I am?

I have always felt the need to compartmentalize my life into socially acceptable little boxes since I first realized I was different, around the age of 13. Sure, there were moments when I stopped caring, like when I started smoking pot, but even then I wouldn't mention a certain part of myself to close friends.

The best friend I had in my teens and early twenties knew I was bipolar and bisexual, but she had no idea I was a good student, an artist, and a writer.

The boyfriend I had for a year didn't know I was bisexual.

The art teacher I had for nearly two years had no clue that I was missing class because I was in a psychiatric hospital....rather than save my grade by admitting I had a cognitive disability, I just took a mediocre grade.

Now I am even more split....

The best friend I have, who is an excellent student with the same major as myself, has no idea I'm part of United Student Pride, the Gay, Lesbian, Transgendered, Transsexual, Bisexual alliance group on campus. Furthermore, she has no idea I'm schizo-affective and a disabled student who gets accommodations if I request them.

The only person who really knows me, the real me, is my psychoanalyst. Isn't that lame? I think I need to get out more.

This blog is my way of anonymously piecing myself back together. It's my little exhibitionist practice that allows me to vent in front of people without suffering major repercussions in my personal life.

So thank you, anonymous reader from whatever country you're from: I need you. I need you more than you need to read my soap opera life. I am willing to take any harsh comments you may have just for the satisfaction of knowing that, even though you don't like me, you still read about my insignificant life. You know me better than most people! So thanks, from the sincere part of my heart: thanks!

Hope

I am heading to a graduate program forum this weekend. The forum is for upper-division undergraduates with a decent cumulative GPA who are curious about graduate school.

Two years ago I was a college drop-out who psychiatrists told not to bother with college anymore---it would just stress me out and cause another schizo-affective episode. Two years ago I was unemployed, lonely, twenty pounds heavier than I am now, and miserable.

What changed? I did. I demanded help from the county mental health system. I received that help, and then some. I began to think differently during cognitive behavioral therapy, seeing that I am not just a burden on society, but a person with a lot to offer. I started to occupy myself with hobbies, photography, painting, drawing, reading, studying a new language, until I was at peace with my life. Then, doors started to open. First, I was accepted into the University. Then, I managed to get through the semester without having any episodes, despite several deaths in my family that left me haunted and in mourning.

I made the dean's list. I got straight A's during the summer as well. Here I am, two years after being told to quit on my aspirations of a college degree, and I'm close to graduating with my B.A. Two years after being told that I'm a hopelessly disabled person who needs a disability check, I am really close to achieving my dream of being the first one in my extended family to get a B.A. from a major University.

Had I listened to those psychiatrists, I'd be miserable. I wouldn't know how to cope with the losses in my family. Being in college makes me feel like I have a purpose and that I can achieve what I want to achieve. It makes me feel like I'm doing some good in the world.

Had I listened to those naysayers, I'd be moping around, trying to fill the void with food or marijuana or material items. Looking back, I am glad I didn't listen to them. I am glad that I got in touch with a care-provider that encouraged me to reach for my dreams. I am glad I have a family that lets me live here rent free while I go to college!

Instead of listening to those psychiatrists. I took the road less traveled for somebody with a mental handicap. I forged ahead, making blunders, making mistakes, but carving a path nonetheless. This is me just bragging, I guess, but I also think it goes to show that there is hope in life. No matter where you're at, there's always hope. The best thing about hope is that there's no charge! It's free for the taking!

My point for this blog is to capture a moment where I feel pure hope. Hopefully, my hope is contagious.

Confessions of a Closet Schizophrenic

I'm a returning University student, a senior with just 1 and a half semesters left to achieve a B.A. I made the dean's list last semester and I also got straight A's taking 13 units during the summer. I'm well-dressed, well-groomed, well-read, and well, crazy.

I'm a decent person with a clean legal record. Unless you count my 5150's where the police came to the house to capture the girl who was cowering in a corner, afraid of assassins barging in at 3 in the morning. Even then, in the midst of my mental illness, I wasn't a threat to other people. Myself, perhaps, but not you, not my family, not anybody else. Like a parasite, the schizophrenia preys on its host until its host is but a shell of her former self.

But that was 2 years ago. I've been in recovery through medication and cognitive behavioral therapy for about that long and I haven't had an episode since. I have a long-term care provider, a counselor at a state disability program, and good grades despite recent deaths in the family. I'm what a professional would call "stable."

But in the long run, what chances do I have of living a successful life? Can I expect real employment after I graduate, or will my future be an endless series of single job interviews with unsympathetic employers wearily eying their health insurance packets? This problem isn't mine, it's yours. If I can't find work I'll go seek state disability. That's tax payer money. I'd RATHER work. I CAN work. I CAN critically think. I CAN be productive. I CAN maintain high levels of stress with appropriate coping skills. Does this really matter as soon as I drop the S-word (schizo-affective disorder) with somebody?

According to the Americans with Disabilities Act, I am guaranteed equality under the federal government and in all aspects of employment, education, and social treatment. But this area is an area where a lot of people break the law and get away with it. Many people discriminate against persons with a mental diagnosis. They fear them. They hate them. They mock them. They ostracize them. I'm not talking about the thug at the end of the block. I'm talking about people in high positions. Employers, CEO's, supervisors, professors, publishers, agents, and many, many corporations.

To a corporation the mental diagnosed are just unnecessary burdens. We "drain" their health care resources. We "slow down" their productivity. We "can't get along" with other coworkers.

They apparently never got the news that Pulitzer Prize winner Sylvia Plath was mad, or that Nobel Prize winner John Nash was a schizophrenic. Indeed, many talented people can have a diagnosis while being productive.

But back to the title of this post: I'm a closet schizophrenic. I tried one semester of partially disclosing my medical needs to my professors. I am under the Students with Disabilities Services program and as part of it, we may choose to hand out letters requesting specific accommodations. Mine was infrequent absences due to doctor's appointments. I got 2 letters out to 2 different professors. They were both kind. However, when it came to handing the letters out to my major's professors, I chickened out. I couldn't face them knowing they knew there was something behind my shy demeanor.

I had turned in a scholarship application and applied as a disabled student. I submitted physician's proof of this. I wrote honestly about having an average GPA because a lot of my college time coincided with periods where I couldn't get treatment, be it because the county refused to treat me or because I was in denial of my illness. I was clear, honest, sincere. I was then soundly rejected. I didn't even receive a hundred dollar scholarship. Nothing. I had a sufficient GPA to transfer to a major University despite being chronically disabled, but I wasn't deemed worthy of a hundred dollar scholarship. Maybe I'm being bitter, but why would they ask if you're disabled if they are not going to take that fact into consideration?

This time around, when I apply for grad school, I might not disclose that I'm mentally disabled. I might pretend to just be a lazy pothead who didn't take school seriously the first couple of years. Maybe they'd be more sympathetic if I just sugar-coated my entire existence.

When friends ask why I'm going to the doctor, even close friends I trust dearly, I still say, "check-up." Maybe I should start saying I have a chronic heart condition. Maybe then I'd be accepted as "an acceptable disabled person" and not a "risk" or an unwanted type of person.

I'm perfectly willing to work my ass off at a job with high stress. I'm willing to continue my treatment program. I'm willing to be open to criticism and new ideas. The question is: are the rest of you willing to accept me as a disabled worker?