“Do not be fooled and do not invent”: Why do people talk about mental difficulties in social networks
Social networks have greatly expanded their understanding of openness.. People lay out seemingly naturalistic photos of what lies on their plate and happens in the house - but often such posts embellish or completely distort reality. In cases where a person decides to talk about an intimate experience, real difficulties and injuries, he is often accused of inappropriate exposure to readers. We talked with several girls who told about their psychological difficulties in social networks, about why they did it - and how those around them reacted.
Interview: Irina Kuzmichyova
Daria
I have always been immune to comments on the fact that depression is "just a bad mood" and "unwillingness to live a comfortable life amidst starving children in Africa." When I was studying journalism, for example, the presence of depression or bipolar disorder was considered an indispensable part of student culture.
The diagnosis of "borderline personality disorder" was a journey to me for me. It took almost ten years for it to be established in my understanding and established in the understanding of doctors. Before that, I experienced depression several times, she was treated with medication. Passed psychotherapy sessions for bipolar disorder. Then there was epilepsy - not from the field of mental disorders, but it largely changed my attitude towards them and towards myself (I wrote a rather personal column about this). That is, to the borderline personality disorder, I came.
Talking about mental health is like fighting windmills, but I decided that if I was silent, these mills would grind me. Therefore, I began with a simple one: I explained everything to my surroundings in detail, I tried to talk about the difference between mental and neurological disorders. It helped a lot: some people changed their mind, others saw a person in me with whom they could share their problems and know that I would not judge them. There are a lot of those in my instagram blog - they share stories publicly and write in private messages. It helps to see that everyone has difficulties and this is normal.
I am not ashamed to talk about the diagnosis - on the contrary, it is easy. It is much harder to mimic the standards of "normality". And so threw the flag - and you can not censor your identity. When I had social networks, it became a logical continuation of my position. With the help of social networks, I realized that my place is in many ways to search, reflect, question everything. A blog gives me the opportunity not only to speak openly about mental health, but also to register what is happening with me. This is such a public diary. I try to be extremely honest, and this resonates with those who do not have borderline personality disorder, but there are other disorders.
People spend more energy on ignoring the situation, rather than talking about it. If we all sometimes went to the social network not as in the ideal world of superhumans with a doggie filter, but as a psychotherapist's office, everything would become much more transparent. We are not so lonely, and our sufferings are not so unique. And it is beautiful.
Lina
My story began in 2015, I was thirteen years old. Nothing foretold that I would spend the next three years in hell. My closest person died, and from that moment on I closed in on myself. In a few months, from a high school student turned almost into a troika - I didn’t care. I returned home from school and went to myself, for the first time resorted to self-harm. I did it in order to feel alive for a few minutes. When my parents saw my rugged hands, they took me to a doctor. Over the course of a year, I was diagnosed - from post-traumatic stress to anxiety-depressive disorder.
But then something changed. Life returned to me: I slept for three to four hours a day, studied, went in for sports, drew a lot. It lasted about five months. I went to the doctor to report that everything is in order - but he diagnosed bipolar disorder. Then I did not know what it is.
My life was divided into two periods: mania and depression. People with bipolar disorder and depression often want to commit suicide. I also wanted and even tried three times, but this is in the past. Now I want to live, despite the disease. I learned to cope with it, I have been in remission for more than three months. In a sense, this disease is a reward. Imagine the pleasure that you have when you eat a tasty dish or listen to your favorite song. Now multiply it by ten - that's what I feel in the period of mania.
When the disease progressed and I needed support, almost all my friends left me. Most likely, they simply did not know how to behave. I have a blog in instagram, where more than fifty thousand readers. Before, I only hinted to Storiz that I had bipolar disorder and I suffered from Selfharm, often laid out Depressive Storiz. Subscribers asked a lot of questions, so recently I told my audience about my difficulties. I want people who notice similar symptoms in themselves to understand what is happening to them and turn to a good specialist - this is important. And it is important for them to know that they are not alone. I always reply in private messages to requests for advice, support, comfort. I know how much support is needed, because I didn’t receive it in my time.
Sasha
Until a certain moment, I didn’t have a desire to write a sheet on Facebook about my psyche: I didn’t want to attract too much attention to myself. But it never occurred to me that someone would seriously judge me because of what was happening to me, because I did not like it, and I was trying to cope with it. In the winter of 2016, I was terribly covered, for a few weeks I almost did not leave the house. All on the classic: you do not want to wake up, then you can not sleep, you feel stably disgusting. It is impossible to work in such a state, but I forced myself through force. In addition to the main work, I also gained a lot of freelancing. But you can not ask a depressive episodic to wait until you finish everything. Messages from customers fell on me: "This should be done yesterday." I could not stand it and wrote a post in the telegram channel: I just told me what state I was in for some time. I was ashamed to ask employers to move deadlines or give my tasks to other people, but I wanted to at least somehow express myself.
My channel reads very few people, and among them was my friend (already a former) - I translated texts for her site. I didn’t expect anyone to write something to me, but in the end it was from her that I received a derogatory sheet in the spirit: "But how can you not be ashamed to justify your laziness with such nonsense." The message ended with literally the following words: "I have ***, how do you do it, but you promised, so after so many days I am waiting for files with translations in my personal account." And I did not even stutter that I would not do something. Now I remember and just amazed that she, like a progressive girl, could deny mental illness. And then I was incredibly ashamed that I was such a dairy. Therefore, I assured her that I would pass everything on time, and demolished the post. For a long time, this discouraged my desire to write about my psychological disorders (I have bipolar and mixed anxiety and depressive disorder) in social networks. But as it turned out, even detailed stories are not needed to pour a bucket of shit on a random person.
At the end of August, the flash mob “One Like = One Fact” came to life on Twitter again, and there was the thread of a “psychologist” who wrote sexist nonsense that would be if you asked a man and a woman to draw a bicycle. I told about my past psychotherapist, who advised me to listen to my mother, get married as soon as possible and give birth to a child. Tweet quickly dispersed and with monstrous stories of girls caught in such situations, gathered in a replay a bunch of people with their Very Important Opinion. Among the most decent of what they wrote to me: "Are there any femki without psychological problems?" They also wrote that I was fooled by foolishness, that I had nowhere to put money (as if I were taking them away from someone), that I wanted to seem special or just show off. These people did not see how I was choking with panic, if I suddenly thought that I had forgotten to lock the door to the apartment. They read a couple of my tweets and decided that I go to the doctors and swallow the pills, because it is fashionable. It is terrible to imagine what people who write about their diagnoses constantly or blogs about mental disorders face.
Maybe public confessions are good, if it makes it easier - but first you need to figure out whether this is worth the negativity you will receive in your address. In my situation, it only got worse. And certainly you should not hope for understanding. “You don’t have cancer and even your leg isn’t broken. So don’t be fooled and don't make it up,” is the logic of many. Is it worth the effort to prove to everyone that this is not a joke or show off? I strongly doubt it. It is enough to have the support of friends and a good doctor.
Katya
About a year and a half ago, I began to experience psychological difficulties. The mood was constantly bad for no apparent reason. There was aggression, which I splashed out at my close ones, and apathy towards many things that had previously pleased me. My youngest daughter at that time was three months old, the eldest son was eight years old. I decided it was postpartum depression, I found a psychotherapist.
The first course of therapy was short: the doctor did not fit me, there were no visible results. After another six months, I made a new attempt to find a specialist, because I felt obvious discomfort, and the quality of life deteriorated. Most of all, I was worried that the children would remember me sullen, irritable and always tired. My son witnessed my constant quarrels with my husband - I also wanted to improve relations with him. Then I found a psychotherapist from another city and began to consult her on Skype. We managed to make contact, but most of the time I sobbed into the cell phone, which embarrassed her very much: there should not be so many tears after several sessions. She advised to find a doctor in my city, who in addition to psychotherapy will connect to the treatment of medication. By the way, by this she dispelled the myth for me that it is beneficial for psychotherapists to delay the treatment in order to earn more.
I came to the head of a mental hospital not far from home, just to ask what I should do. By this time I was on the edge, it was painful and bad to live. She took me on the same day and, asking about ten questions, diagnosed depression for me. It turns out that everything that happened to me during the year is typical for people with this disorder.
From that moment I began to be treated in a psychiatric hospital. I was registered in a day hospital: I came three times a week, I had my own psychiatrist and clinical psychologist. I went there with pleasure. I was released when I came to terms with the fact that I needed professional help, that it was normal and even necessary to ask for it when you could not cope on your own. And, probably, the awareness of this fact prompted me to publicly admit in social networks about my illness and treatment.
I wrote an instagram post on October 10, read on Wonderzine that this is Mental Health Day - and I thought it was a great excuse. Before, I almost did not tell anyone about depression, I was embarrassed. I am not a blogger, I did not count on mega-coverage - I just wanted my friends and acquaintances to find out what was happening in my life. I wanted no pity, but so that other people could look at a girlfriend in a new way, who all the time refused to meet and shut herself up. For a girlfriend who has given birth to a child and even though she looks happy when meeting, she can be sad and cry while remaining alone with the baby. So that people do not dismiss their problems, their sadness, but find the strength to admit it - first of all to themselves - and ask for help. It is very difficult to get together and go to a psychoneurological clinic for referral, to a psychiatric hospital for treatment, because in our country it is not customary to talk about this, but you want to stay away from the institutions themselves. But sometimes being there is a real salvation.
As for the responses to my post, mostly I was written in the comments and in the direct many words of support, they wished for recovery. Of course, it was nice, I read all the messages and cried with joy. But not without comments like: "Do not pay attention. It's autumn, drink vitamins." There was also a comment from a colleague - she wrote that everything happens to me because of a lack of will, and in general the children in Africa are starving, and here I am complaining. I was upset, crying, but survived. Public recognition helped me at least by the fact that I was freed from the secret that had been with me all this time, separating me from my friends. I do not consider myself a heroine: I did what I wanted, and continued to undergo treatment and hope for a full recovery.
Ksyusha
I had anorexia at the age of thirteen. There were all the prerequisites for this: at school I was called a fat girl, although I was just a healthy teenage girl, on social networks there was a pandemic of people about losing weight. I was a larva of a person with an immature psyche and a bunch of complexes, and all these factors led me to the decision to lose weight a little. Then anorexia in Russia was considered a demonic disease model. There was a large community on the Internet, but these publics were rather destructive: Anorexics were getting high from their illness and wanted to share it.
As a result, it reached the point that I began to weigh 36 kilograms. At school, almost everyone stopped communicating with me, the teachers asked me why I was ill. Health deteriorated, a lot of hair fell out. Worst of all, perhaps, it was my parents, with whom we quarreled every day about the fact that I refused to eat. They were terrified, but I could not describe in words how I hate my own body. No one in the family knew that you could ask for help.
Again, I started myself - I needed strength to enter the Moscow State University. I recovered, entered the university, regained my health. But the hatred for my body and myself did not go away - and in twenty-one years I came to a psychotherapist. I was diagnosed with anxiety-depressive disorder with dysmorphophobia (a disorder of perception of my own body). The doctor explained that, gaining weight, I did not get rid of the problem, so therapy is needed. Spoiler: they helped me.
Not long ago, my friendly clothing brand offered to take part in a campaign in support of the mental health of young women and tell their story. Before that, only friends and acquaintances knew about my difficulties. I was never afraid to seem "strange" or "unhealthy." The moment has come when it is important to talk about how girls and women suffer from standards of beauty. I told about my experience on instagram - I just thought about myself as a fourteen-year-old and what would have happened to me if I had read it.
In the comments to the post and in my personal messages, many girls came up who admitted that they had suffered the same. Many asked where to look for a good therapist. Someone just wrote good words. Surprisingly toxic reviews were not. Positive feedback is very encouraging: it means that society is changing and some topics are no longer stigmatized - in this sense, such posts perfectly fit into the theory of small businesses. This recognition helped me once again to remember why I am who I am. Now all my friends know about it. Perhaps, someone gave the answer to the question why I do not eat pizza and go to the gym every other day. I will never get rid of some old habits, but this is my experience and a part of me.
Ana
I have anxiety and depressive disorder with panic attacks. I am constantly tense and afraid that another attack will happen and I will not be able to control it. I stopped trusting myself and my body. This usually happens in the morning: I open my eyes, my heart begins to pound with fear, and cold sweat appears on my forehead. It covers an unbearable longing and it seems that something bad will happen if something is not done - but I do not know what to do. It remains only to sway from side to side and wait until it releases. I needed to pour out my anxiety somewhere, and I began to practice self-chem - it worked for a while, but I became addicted to pain. Then everything went out of control, and I began to think about death.
It took me a year of rehabilitation. This was helped by a psychotherapist, medication, art therapy, yoga, meditation. And my blog is on Instagram. Six months ago, I wrote a post that I had panic attacks, and met only support. I continued to write about my feelings, about my life, about my pain - and every time I met people with similar difficulties. Finally I stopped feeling lonely. My audience helps me deal with my frustration, and I help them.
I am a psychoactivist, and it is important for me that people understand that these diseases exist. It's great when there are people who listen and understand. Мы общаемся только в Сети, но я могу назвать их друзьями, потому что они прошли со мной через многое и всё это время поддерживали меня. Прекрасно осознавать, что я мотивирую кого-то не бояться сказать вслух о депрессии, биполярном расстройстве, панических атаках и других заболеваниях. Потому что болеть не стыдно. Никогда бы не подумала, что смогу открыто говорить о своём диагнозе на большую публику. Но я горжусь тем, что не стала молчать.