stig·ma/ˈstigmə/
Noun:
A mark of disgrace associated with a particular circumstance, quality, or person: "the stigma of mental disorder".
Stigma. It's an interesting word, really, when you think about it. I find it interesting that the definition of stigma uses mental disorder to clarify the meaning. I've talked a bit about our experiences with family members and their reactions to my husband's PTSD, but I haven't really given clear examples of certain behaviors. I talk in a lot of angry, vague statements, which, leaves a lot of the truth out of the equation. So, here's my example of the stigma that we've experienced.
It was oh, two and half years or so ago now, my husband had just started treatment for PTSD and we had both just started to recognize the uphill battle we were in for. This, right here, was the turning point in our marriage, really. Up until this point, we had only spoken about PTSD as an abstract or a maybe. I mean, we both knew that my husband had PTSD, but we weren't actually acknowledging it or really knew anything about it. So, he had gone to a psychologist and was prescribed anti-depressants and he decided to take him. That, right there, was a HUGE step for him and I was so proud of him for taking that step.
So, he tells his parents about the anti-depressants and about his diagnosis and how hard he was struggling. The response? It was overwhelming condescension that he even dare think about taking anti-depressants, let alone really take them. I'm sure you can imagine how this made him feel, right? BUT, he took them anyway and he kept plugging away,trying to fight his demons. I can remember, at one point, his dad coming up to me to talk to me about his diagnosis and he made some vague reference to those pills, like it was something dirty, something perverted. I can remember his mother and her look of disgust every time he tried to bring up how hard he was struggling and how the psychologists felt that some of his issues were related to his childhood. Which, fuck, don't ever bring that up to them! His childhood was roses and kittens according to them and they "were the best parents they could be". Pfffttt. But, I digress.
Those anti-depressants eventually sent my sweet, struggling husband to the ER with one of those "rare, but serious side effects". The ones that are never supposed to happen? It did. I called the ambulance to come and take him to the hospital, the paramedics were in my house working on him and my kids were scared to death. I called his family to tell them and you what the response was? Well, it's just a panic attack, but the way that it was spoken, well, all I can do is shake my head with confusion and sadness. I'll never forget that night. It was one of the hardest nights of this whole experience.
After my husband came home and talked to his parents, they chose, instead of making sure he was alright and making sure that he would continue to be alright, they chose to harp on him about the medication. They chose to berate him and to tell him "I told you so", instead of loving him and assuring themselves and him, that he would be okay.
He internalized that, of course, who wouldn't? He felt like he had done something wrong in trying to help himself feel better. What kind of fucked up way to treat your son is that? BUT, it also showed, to me, at least, how widespread this stigma is.
My husband suffers from a mental disorder. It will never go away. It cannot be cured. I keep saying and I will continue to say; we face a new reality, every day. His PTSD is similar to any other long-term illness, it has changed the way that we live, forever. IT IS NOT HIS FAULT. He did not ask for this, he does not enjoy it, and really, it's not easy for any of us. We face it, though. He faces it.
He's currently in treatment and on new meds and is working towards making his life better. WITH MEDS. With the dirty, perverted pills.
I am trying to be as upfront as possible about the going ons in our lives and about the experiences we go through. I am trying to break this stigma by not treating it as a dirty secret, because it's not. People will loudly proclaim that they have cancer, or that they have some other illness and then proudly announce that they are fighters and they are survivors. And they are, make no mistake, but my husband isn't less of a survivor or less of a fighter. He shouldn't have to hide his head in shame because he's suffering from a mental disorder.
