The Stampeding Beast

Modern North Americans are not reluctant to discuss their health conditions. Indeed, the standard greeting in American English is “How are you?” Of course it is a rhetorical question, in most cases, with the usual “Fine thank you, and you?” response expected and offered by most. Still, the topic of one’s aches and pains and maladies is not taboo, especially amongst our aging population…of which I am now officially a member, according to the American Association of Retired Persons. And I am no different from most other people on the downhill side of fifty. I don’t mind sharing about my past surgeries, my routine medical procedures and exams, and how I creak and pop a little more than before whenever I get out of bed in the morning. While I wouldn’t share every detail of my entire medical history with just anybody, my mundane physical ups and downs are more or less an open book.

          But there are other medical struggles that many—perhaps most, if not all—human beings experience regularly, yet we hesitate to admit them. These common afflictions are less visible than the others, sometimes manifesting no outward signs or symptoms at all. But they take their toll nevertheless, leading to stress-induced illnesses that weaken our hearts, mess up our intestines, and affect our capacity to enjoy meaningful relationships with other people. I’m referring to mental illness.

          There is still such a strong taboo associated with mental illness in North America that many people would rather suffer in silence than admit their struggles. Look at how loosely we use the word “crazy” in our language, in both good and bad contexts: “You’re crazy, man!” “That cake was crazy good!” “I was crazy busy at work today.” With such a flippant attitude toward the concept, no wonder people hesitate to articulate that which afflicts them from within. It takes more courage to admit a struggle with mental health than it does to admit a physical ailment, no matter how serious. When someone suffers a physical problem, we blame the problem and empathize with the victim. When someone suffers a mental health struggle, we so often turn the blame on the sufferer. Why is that?

          In centuries past, people with physical deformities or birth defects or chronic illnesses were often said to be punished by God for their sins, therefore they were “unclean,” like the lepers and the hemorrhaging woman in the Bible’s New Testament. And people suffering from mental illnesses were said to be possessed by demons. Those were superstitious explanations for things the ancients couldn’t understand. While there is a remnant of people today who cling to such dark ignorance, even the most religious among us have accepted medical science’s explanations for the things that make us less than healthy. But the specter of that ancient stigma sticks like a tattoo that cannot be erased, thus we often label people suffering from mental illness as unclean. It is no wonder these victims so often keep their battles to themselves…all too often with tragic consequences.

          So it is not easy for me to state that I have struggled with a recurring mental health issue since childhood. It has vexed me for as long as I can remember, never becoming serious enough to interfere with my schoolwork or my jobs, never keeping me from doing the things that I really wanted to do, and never leading me down paths of addiction or self-medication with drugs and alcohol. And yet, it wakes up from dormancy occasionally and goes on a rampage, sort of like that herpes virus I somehow got on my lip in second grade that pops up as a cold sore sometimes when I get sunburned or have a fever.

My anxiety attacks, however, come more frequently than the cold sores. I’m not sure what triggers these episodes; anything and everything, I suppose. This month, August 2014, has been awful: the death by suicide of Robin Williams; the barbaric execution of American journalist James Foley; the suffering of thousands of Christians and other minorities in Iraq at the hands of a brutal extremist group. And these are just a few of the news-worthy items. There are the ongoing stressors, too: my dad is almost ninety; his house has been on the market for a year now; I’m living on my savings as I transition my career; I’m learning technological things many Americans now learn in middle school; the demands my church makes on me increase the longer I attend there; the inescapable contact with people who stress me out. And then there are stressors that I actually volunteer for, such as participating in my church’s drama performances, and taking online classes. There is no single stressor that sets me off, but a collection of small, everyday events and circumstances and people in my life that just pile up on my back until I feel I’m at the breaking point.

          Sometimes it literally feels like a pile of bricks on my back, squeezing my neck and shoulders until they hurt. And the constant feeling of dread in my stomach creates mild gastro-intestinal distress that is annoying and depletes my energy. I have no doubt that my condition affects my blood pressure adversely, and that it causes disturbances in my sleep patterns and affects my metabolism.

          So now that I’ve “come out” as an anxiety sufferer, many concerned friends and relatives will ask, “What can I do to help?” If I knew the answer to that question, I would have already helped myself. And I have a master’s degree in counseling, so I already know what therapists would recommend. I know that exercise, rest, good nutrition, hydration, prayer and/or meditation, and other healthy practices are beneficial for coping with anxiety and other mental health issues. But if you really want to know, here are some suggestions:

1.     Please don’t tell me what I should be doing. I already know that, and when you tell me what I should be doing, it reminds me that I’m not doing it, which sends me into an even deeper tailspin and makes me feel all the worse about myself. Instead, ask me, “What are you doing to cope with your anxiety?” Then if I give you a positive response, you can ask, “How can I help you with that?”

2.     If you sense that I am stressed, please don’t make more demands of me. People like me have a hard time saying no, and that contributes to our stress. Ask me what you will, but don’t expect an immediate response. Give me some time to reflect and respond later. If you must have an answer now, then the answer is “no.” Accept that and please don’t try to convince me otherwise. That will just make me feel more pressured, then I will feel angry, then I will blame myself for feeling angry, then I will retreat and the tailspin will continue.

3.     There are some situations, people, and environments that I find stressful, even under healthy circumstances. Noisy, crowded places are an example of a stressful environment. Boredom, monotony, and repetition stress me out. Whining, complaining people set me off. Of course I recognize that many people whom I find to be stressful are themselves experiencing some sort of mental distress. But when I am feeling vulnerable, I am not the best company for them. That’s not beneficial to them or to me. Please understand when I need to separate myself from these stressors during a time of vulnerability.

4.     My quirks and eccentricities will be magnified during an anxiety episode. For example, I naturally get bored with repetitious activities, so when I’m feeling stressed, I may have even less focus than when I’m in a less anxious state. Please be patient. I may not do things in the most efficient or logical way from some viewpoints, but they will get done, in my way and in my time.

5.     I slip into the grip of my inferior function when I feel stressed. This is Myers-Briggs Type talk, but what it means is this: I am naturally an intuitive-feeling-perceiver (NFP), which means I take in information intuitively, express it emotionally, and act on it holistically and spontaneously. My inferior function, however, is sensing-thinking-judging (STJ). That means if I feel stressed, I will hyper-focus on only that which I can perceive with my five senses, overthink the hell out of it, and then be all anal-retentive about organizing the details to absolute closure. Not me at my best. If you see me doing that, just ask me simply, “Inferior function?” Then help me get back on track to doing what I do best as an NFP: trusting my gut, feeling things out, and going with the flow.

Talking about what’s going on in one’s head is good therapy itself. Some people pay hundreds of dollars per hour to a counseling psychologist for that, others much less getting their hair done or having a margarita. [Note: a competent counseling psychologist is trained to guide the client with effective questioning techniques and insightful comments, so they are worth what they get paid]. Journaling or blogging about it is helpful, too; I feel better just by writing this and explaining about my struggles, what helps and what doesn’t, and what it’s like to experience anxiety on a semi-regular basis.

I know I’m not alone in my struggles. Anxiety is as common as cold sores. Just about everyone gets it to some degree or another. And hundreds of millions of people around the world have circumstances in their lives that are much, much more stressful than mine, so I acknowledge that I am blessed and I am grateful for those blessings. Yet gratitude and humility and concern for the deeper suffering of others won’t completely eradicate my own bouts of anxiety. This may well be something that will afflict me my entire life, as it has some people very close to me. But it doesn’t have to control me. I can corral this beast and keep it contained as much as possible. And perhaps in discussing my own struggles, I can encourage someone else who is suffering in silence to name their beast, face it head on, and ultimately contain its tendency to go on a rampaging stampede through their inner landscape.