Mental Illness Myth Number Three: ‘Triggered’ Is Used By SJWs As Censorship

Currently, I’m raising mental awareness by dispelling common myths is something I started with my posts The Importance of Raising Mental Health Awareness, as well as Mental Illness Myth Number One and Mental Illness Myth Number Two.

When I first started these common mental health misconceptions, I was actually quite furious: it disgusts me that there are people in this world that genuinely believe this bullshit.

But now I feel as though I can turn something extremely negative into something amazingly positive.

Again, I don’t want any of these attacks on the person or persons that constructed the material I’m deconstructing and analysing. I am attacking the material, and the myths, that some people genuinely believe.

This particular piece that I stumbled across was a poem. I’m being deliberately vague as, like I stated, I don’t want anyone starting any attacks on the person(s) responsible. I want to focus on the material solely.

“Entitled little brats, who say they are triggered.”

Firstly, people have the right to tell you if something you’ve said or done is offensive. If they are telling you you’ve offended them, it’s probably because you have said or done something offensive. I know everyone’s currently obsessed with “PC police”, but realistically, the truth is that things aren’t suddenly more offensive, sexist, racist and homophobic … it’s that they always were, and now people are telling you that because they’re in a position where they can be heard.

If that’s the case, it doesn’t make the person/group of people “entitled little brats”.

It actually means you are an entitled little brat because you just dismissed someone for calling you out on your bullshit and you seem to think you’re better than everyone else.

Secondly, like Noelle Martin wrote in her post, we need to stop using the word “triggered” as a joke (if you’re wondering who the insensitive assholes are that think triggering people is a game, look towards the MRAs and MGTOWs).

Yeah, this isn’t funny. It makes you a dick.

A lot of people suffer from PTSD, and triggers are real.

You also don’t need to be specifically suffering from PTSD to be triggered by someone or something.

I know that, as a result of a domestic violence relationship, sexual assault and other traumatic events from my past, I am triggered by certain things, and those triggers can cause overwhelming panic attacks.

Whilst no MRA has triggered me, we need to stop being so psychopathic and sadistic that we think it’s fun to try and trigger someone (and no, that’s not hyperbole, unfortunately).

We also need to consider the fact that someone who says that they’ve been triggered may actually be suffering from PTSD and may have actually been fucking triggered.

And if you think that’s okay – and you want to label someone as an “entitled brat” because their past is so traumatic they’ve developed a disorder, then you’re a wanker and I’m seriously disturbed by your lack of empathy for others.

The poem continues with:

“Fuck you, for your attention-seeking pretending to have a mental illness.

“Writing on Tumblr [so] you can get the highest oppression score.

“God forbid that someone on twitter [sic] says something you don’t like, grow up and be an adult, your [sic] in your twenties and should be standing on your own two feet.”

I don’t know how any times it has to be said for it to sink in for some people, or if some people enjoy being deliberately obtuse: raising awareness about mental illness is necessary.

In Australia, almost half the population  (45%) will experience some form of mental illness in their lifetime (BeyondBlue, 2016).

One in five women will experience depression (BeyondBlue, 2016).

One in eight men will also suffer from depression – averaging it out to roughly one in six Australians who will suffer from depression at some point (BeyondBlue, 2016).

Those statistics are incredibly high, and that’s just depression.

One in three women and one in five men suffer from anxiety (BeyondBlue, 2016).

On average, eight Australians take their lives each day (BeyondBlue, 2016).

At the moment, one Australian man is taking his life (on average) every four hours.

That’s close to 3,000 Australians who will choose suicide each year.

Now, tell me: did you know the stats? Do you read this and think there’s enough awareness currently being raised?

In your country, without using Google, do you know what percentage of the population suffers from a mental illness?

Without Google, do you know how many men and women suffer from depression?

Anxiety?

Without Google, do you know how many people take their lives each year due to a lack of support and help and the idea that most people are just “seeking attention”?

Also, harassment and abuse via the Internet is on the rise.

Online harassment of women, for example, is starting to become normalised (which I can’t express how damaging that is).

According to CNET, harassment and abuse of women online is an ‘epidemic‘.

Male vs female harassment.

Or when Milo Yiannopoulos frequently sends his followers to abuse other people – for example, like in the high-profile case of Leslie Jones.

Or how about when certain ‘trolls’ couldn’t attack an author, so instead they started sending rape threats to his five year old daughter?

So please, don’t say harassment and abuse is ‘normal’, should be accepted as normal, or isn’t a severe problem.

Sure, there’s plenty of low-level bullshit on Twitter, but whatever the reason (even if you don’t think it’s acceptable), someone has the right to block you.

If you’re disappointed that you can’t hurl further insults and abuse at them, that means something is wrong with you, not them.

And lastly, age doesn’t mean shit when you suffer from a mental illness.

Some people can’t stand on their own two feet and actually do need extra help and support.

Growing up and behaving like an adult is about realising that there are plenty of illnesses and disabilities – both mental and physical – are comprehensive and complicated.

Some things will work for some people.

Some things won’t.

Being an adult is about letting go of your judgement, hatred and prejudice you have of people that don’t fit your description of “unwell”, and realising everyone is different.

Originally published on The Melodramatic Confessions of Carla Louise.

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Mental Illness Myth Number One: Only The Poor Suffer From Depression

If you read my recent post, The Importance of Raising Mental Health Awareness, you’d know that I was furious when another person suggested that I was faking my illnesses and that, by raising awareness, I was essentially doing more harm than good.

Whilst this person apologised (which I both appreciated and forgave; whilst it wasn’t a nice post, we all make mistakes), it made me start thinking of some of the myths, judgements and misconceptions this blogger expressed, and how so many people share similar beliefs.

I have no intention of naming and shaming anyone when discussing these myths, and whilst this is a direct quote (although I won’t be naming the source), I’m sure it’s something similar we’ve all seen before.

“SJW’s [sic] are moving onto mental illness .. [and] are romancing it on social media platforms. [Why] are they being this way?

“Attention. When all these social justice whiners, upper middle class girls tell you they have a mental illness, and she knows the struggles, I have to laugh. [Your] therapist is probably telling you you have these [mental illnesses] to get more money out of you.

“Therefore, Upper [sic] middle glass girls with Twitter PTSD, living in your nice expensive flat, and many job prospects. Try living in the under classes.”

Whilst I plan to deconstruct the entire comment I just mentioned, I first want to focus on the main, reoccurring myth in this post: the idea that mental illness is something that can’t happen to the wealthy.

And that isn’t true.

As I’ve mentioned several times before, depression and anxiety (among other mental illnesses) can happen to anyone, and there’s not always a reason.

There are so many reasons why someone can suffer from depression  (or anxiety).

Just because someone appears to have the picture-perfect life doesn’t mean they do.

Money doesn’t buy happiness and it certainly can’t cure depression.

Look at Marilyn Monroe.

Anna Nicole Smith.

Robin Williams.

Kurt Cobain.

Alexander McQueen.

Kristen Bell.

Lady Gaga.

The Rock.

Jon Hamm.

I could go on, but my point is pretty fucking clear.

All the people listed have been wealthy, at least at some point.

All have suffered, or still suffer, from depression.

Some have even taken their own lives.

These people have, or had, extensive wealth, and I would imagine unlimited access to psychologists and different therapies that we possibly couldn’t even imagine.

Wealth isn’t a factor, and insinuating that being wealthy means you can’t have a mental illness is fucking bullshit.

It’s also dangerous as it also makes assumptions about other people’s financial well-being. Which is often impossible to tell, and is sometimes relative to your community. (Meaning you and your family may appear richer to others within your community, but that doesn’t mean you are rich.)

Secondly, I don’t know anyone that has a mental illness who wants the illness, let alone romanticises it.

I know I’d be much happier if I could take a magic pill and not be depressed or suffer from anxiety.

Raising awareness is not the same as romanticising mental illness.

Thirdly, raising mental illness isn’t about attention. However,  those that suffer from a mental illness need to speak out to raise awareness.

Our depression and suicide rates are far too high to ignore.

Fourthly, psychologists aren’t evil people. They don’t want to take your money. They want you to get better.

Thanks to my psychologist and my medication, I rarely have depressive episodes anymore, and I’m able to control my depressive “moments” better.

Fifthly, what the fuck is Twitter PTSD!? Seriously!?

The important take-away from all of this is that money doesn’t equal happiness and being poor doesn’t equate to suffering from a mental illness.

Originally published on The Melodramatic Confessions of Carla Louise.

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Suicide Is Selfish

“Suicide is selfish.”

A phrase – no longer than three words – that I’ve heard countless times. Too many times to count, really.

It’s used carelessly, by those who either don’t know better, or perhaps may be angry because they’ve lost a loved one and need someone, or something, to blame.

“Suicide is selfish.”

Three words I’ve uttered myself, albeit a very long time ago.

Before I knew better.

Before I understood what depression really meant, and just how far you could fall down a rabbit hole, filled with absolute certainty that nothing would be right again and you’d live in constant fear the Queen of Hearts would one day take yours.

Before I knew that depression could consume you, entirely, with the force of a black hole, to the point you actually hope the Queen of Hearts takes your heart.

Or your head.

It doesn’t matter what she takes, not really, because you’re that far gone.

“Suicide is selfish.”

The three words that so many people have a tendency to offer if you ever share the cold, harsh reality with: that you no longer have any desire to live.

And, more importantly, you’ve been in Wonderland for so long now you feel crazier than the Mad Hatter, but you also have no idea how to live.

What those people don’t understand is that, when the darkness takes you like that, suicide does not feel selfish.

It feels the opposite.

In my darkest days, the days where I’ve either tried or seriously contemplated trying, I’ve genuinely thought that the world  would be a far better place without me.

I’ve genuinely believed that, even if some people were upset by my choice and untimely demise, they’d quickly realise that I’d made the right decision.

That the decision I’d made was best for everyone.

“Suicide is selfish.”

Is it though?

Whenever I’ve contemplated actually taking my life – or tried – I’ve thought about making sure everything is organised and in place.

That no one has to deal with any messes or nasty surprises.

Suicide, I’ve learnt, may be a lot of things, but it is not selfish.

Not once have I thought truly and entirely about myself. Sure, I’m no liar – I dream of being Aurora and sleeping for a hundred years, thinking of nothing and no one. I dream of waking to true love’s kiss, and the evil curse, the spread of darkness, is finally broken and I’m finally free.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think of what it’d be like to be free of the never-ending pain. (Just so it’s clear, in case anyone starts worrying, this is actually the best I’ve felt in years. I feel as though I’ve woken from some trance and I’m finally out of the woods – at least for now.)

However, I mostly think about how everyone else would benefit from being free of me and my burden.

I think about the relief they’ll eventually feel, that I’m the problem and by removing me from the equation, the solution is solved.

I think about how much happier everyone would be.

I genuinely assume most people wouldn’t miss me.

Suicide is not selfish.

It’s not.

Most people who choose suicide understand their decision.

They understand what dying means.

They understand that dying means, if you’re an atheist, that that’s it. You’re dead.

There is nothing.

Depending on your religious or spiritual beliefs, you may believe that taking your life is the ultimate sin and that, in whatever afterlife you believe in, you’ll be punished – but still believe the sacrifice is worth it.

Regardless, who makes that decision lightly?

Who decides to end their life for selfish reasons?

No one.

People choose suicide when they feel they have no other choice.

People choose it because they truly believe it’s the best thing.

So please, stop saying suicide is selfish.

Shaming someone who feels the pain of the entire world doesn’t work: it just makes them feel like more of a failure.

And that’s seriously not want someone contemplating suicide needs.

Originally published on The Melodramatic Confessions of Carla Louise.

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What It’s Like To Suffer From Both Anxiety and Depression

As you probably know, I have the misfortune of suffering from both a severe anxiety disorder and clinical depression.

Firstly, to understand what suffering from both feels like, you need to understand them separately to understand how they dramatically contrast each other.

Which really makes everything just that much worse.

With anxiety, and obviously this depends on the person and their specific anxiety disorder (so therefore I’m going to be rather general) you worry too much. Which is a huge understatement in itself as “worrying” doesn’t seem to give anxiety any justice. It’s more like this constant fear of everything and anything in your life that could go wrong, will go wrong.

Image taken from Pinterest

With anxiety, you can’t just “calm down”. Telling someone with anxiety “not to worry” is rather pointless – if we could not worry, we’d really take that option. It’s literally not as easy as people make it seem.

It’s kind of like how you would feel if Jurassic Park were real and you were sitting in those stationary cars when the T-Rex makes its dramatic escape.

Not going to mention the big error where there’s land and suddenly there’s a cliff … but this is the part where your brain goes, “Holy fuck this shit.”

It’s the feeling of: Oh, god, what is going to happen? What am I going to do? How can I cope? What will people think if I pee my pants from fear right now? What if x happens? What if everyone hates me and blames me for the T-Rex’s escape? I know I didn’t do that, but what if I never get to tell anyone the truth? And what if I do, and no one believes me? What if I’m destined to be a failure? Maybe this is god’s way of telling me I’m a failure, by setting a T-Rex on me. Oh, shit, I just remembered there is a T-Rex and I’m worrying about being a failure. Will people even notice if the T-Rex eats me? Will they even care? My hands are shaking so badly. Will the people in the car notice? Will they think less of me because I’m not handling this as well as they are? Oh, god, I just remembered that embarrassing thing I did/said eight years ago. Oh my god, I’m such a freak. And oh my god, there’s a T-Rex right in front of me.

Obviously, the T-Rex is a metaphor for all that anxiety bubbling to the surface and breaking through.

Basically, with anxiety, you care too much. You’re often over-emotional and too sensitive. You have a tendency to worry about anything and everything, no matter how ridiculous it seems. Quite simply, you care about everything way too much.

Depression, in many ways, is the exact opposite.

In 5 Ways Depression is Worse Than You Think, I outlined some unexpected side effects.

With depression (and again, I’m being general, as there are so many different types of depression, and like with anxiety, everyone deals with it differently), you often don’t care about anything.

You don’t see the point.

Why care, when everything is seemingly pointless and hopeless?

It’s like a black hole. Depression sucks in all the negativity, all the badness, and forces you to focus on that. It alters your reality to make life seem worthless, and the back hole, so capable of drawing in every bad word, bad moment, bad action, bad event, seems to effortlessly repel anything even slightly positive or hopeful.

As you can already imagine, having both is torturous.

Imagine caring too much while simultaneously not caring at all. Do you know what it’s like to think Oh my god, I need to do x because of y, and then be thinking, What’s the point? It’s not like it matters anyway. And that thought process goes around and around again.

Imagine being oversensitive, meaning that anything and everything slightly negative is ingested into your black hole of darkness.

Imagine the T-Rex is breaking through the fence, and you are simultaneously panicking with despair and fear (you’re the guy running to the toilet in this situation), as well as wondering what difference it would make if you were eaten (the guy in the toilet also fits this, as he is eaten. *Spoiler*, but really, if you haven’t seen Jurassic Park, shame on you). After all, you tell yourself, would anyone even notice? Perhaps it would be the best thing for everyone.

This is you.

That’s what suffering from depression and anxiety is like.

It’s both caring and not caring whether or not the T-Rex eats you (I really feel as though I’ve pushed this metaphor further than it can go, but it sounded nice in my head).

Remember that before you judge someone, questioning their motives, their mental illnesses, and their invisible ones.

Originally published on The Melodramatic Confessions of Carla Louise.

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