Mental Illness and bullying, let's talk about it.
For a social creature, I'm always amazed to find out how insular we all are. And, some days that amazement isn't a good thing. Things I read from friends, family or people I've never heard of through Twitter and Facebook in response to things like #MeToo and Bell's Let's Talk day leave me feeling like even the most outgoing of us live in these incredibly personal bubbles we feel afraid or ashamed to break out of.
Mental illness is a broad topic. I don't want to try and brand it as depression, or anxiety or any specific aspect of it. Because it is all of those, and more, and less. Some people may suffer in an array of ways where no one individual thing is the cause that pushes it to the limits of being called an illness, but rather a combination of things make it so. And others can be easily classified. But, even being able to classify it doesn't mean you understand it. It just means you know the best name to give it. And it doesn't mean you know how to treat it or help with it. In fact, I think one thing many people are reading and learning is that many attempts to help can make it worse. And perhaps that is part of the reason we bottle it up.
What I think astounds me the most though, is how much opening up about it seems to help. Again, for no other reason than we love to brand ourselves as "social creatures". And talking, I've found, can be pretty profound.
Even those of us which have never reached the point where anyone would ever call what we experienced a mental illness, it is something we all struggle with.
For me, personally, it has been a while since I grappled with it. It was caused by bullying as a kid. Basically, my entire school life. To one degree or another. I don't think I ever reached a dangerous level, though, I certainly did venture into things people might think were. But I was a "smart" kid and I was definitely lucky.
My family has always been one of the best examples of openness and support I've ever experienced. I don't think I can even begin to comprehend where I might have ended up without my family. I think, only a person of my generation can understand how profound what I'm about to say is. My parents either explicitly told us or strongly enough implied that they would love us if we were gay, followed another religion or even felt uncomfortable with our own gender. I honestly struggle to come to grips with something I could decide that I'm convinced would have lost me the love and support of my parents and family.
As I mentioned before, I was bullied and had a ton of support, but, I didn't find a good way through my problems. I worked around the it rather than facing it. I never understood the root problem or the causes. In fact, to combat it, I actually ended up becoming the problem. Without any intention, I would find out later in life that I had bullied kids in turn. The point which was made at least twice to me, was that of name calling. I would be unsurprised to find there are many more examples. These two people didn't confront me until in one case near the end of high school, and in the other, some time after University.
For all of my "smarts", it seems I could be an idiot. Like I said, I worked around the problems. In this case it meant I would try and absorb aspects of the behaviors of those tormenting me, and, to a degree I would fit in and be accepted. I noticed that those who picked on me often had nicknames for each other. And often times, those nicknames weren't exactly complimentary.
So, I did two things. I started, kind of selectively adopting nicknames or insults people used on me. And in turn, I treated others the same. Maybe it is the dark side of the golden rule. I don't want anyone to make either of these 2 mistakes though; I wasn't trying to be mean, but it doesn't matter that I wasn't trying to be mean. At the end of the day, I was probably smart enough that had I faced these issues or talked about them, that I could have come to some other conclusion. I hurt people. And I can't unhurt them.
I feel some solace in the knowledge that I wasn't doing anything with malicious intent. But, I feel an even greater shame at the fact that I didn't even know that what I was doing was wrong and that it hurt people's feelings. I had a safety net so many others didn't. Instead of using it. I became a part of the problem.
What is the point? I don't really know. I wish there was something profound in all of this. For me, there certainly was. But I'm not sure if it will help others. What helped me to realize I had become like the people causing what I was trying to avoid was hearing that I was doing it. While, not knowing you're doing something wrong doesn't justify it, I'm not sure if I would have ever stopped or changed if I hadn't been told. After all, as perverse as it was, I thought it was both normal and a means of inclusivity. But, while being told about it is conceptually simple and can be transformative... it isn't easy. I have tremendous respect for those 2 individuals.
I know, even for us social animals, it is hard to talk about things which make us feel weak or ashamed. But what I want to get through is; talking can help. I hate that I can't guarantee that it will in every situation. And for that reason, amongst others, it will probably never become something easy to do. But, the more people that find the courage to talk about it, the more I hope it brings attention both to the fact that it happens, and perhaps also shines a light for people like me who maybe don't even know.
Bullying and mental health go hand in hand. Eliminating bullying won't eliminate mental health concerns. But I certainly think bullying is a leading contributor. Hearing stories has helped me to re-examine certain things I used do. It has helped. And I not only feel like it has helped me. I like to think it prevented me from hurting others. And, I hope that this, in turn, helps others see that small things like talking about our experiences can lead to changes. I'm not going to pretend that talking is the only thing we need to do. But, if we can't think of anything else to solve the problem. It seems like it can only help to talk about it, and maybe through that we can uncover the next steps.
Mental illness is a broad topic. I don't want to try and brand it as depression, or anxiety or any specific aspect of it. Because it is all of those, and more, and less. Some people may suffer in an array of ways where no one individual thing is the cause that pushes it to the limits of being called an illness, but rather a combination of things make it so. And others can be easily classified. But, even being able to classify it doesn't mean you understand it. It just means you know the best name to give it. And it doesn't mean you know how to treat it or help with it. In fact, I think one thing many people are reading and learning is that many attempts to help can make it worse. And perhaps that is part of the reason we bottle it up.
What I think astounds me the most though, is how much opening up about it seems to help. Again, for no other reason than we love to brand ourselves as "social creatures". And talking, I've found, can be pretty profound.
Even those of us which have never reached the point where anyone would ever call what we experienced a mental illness, it is something we all struggle with.
For me, personally, it has been a while since I grappled with it. It was caused by bullying as a kid. Basically, my entire school life. To one degree or another. I don't think I ever reached a dangerous level, though, I certainly did venture into things people might think were. But I was a "smart" kid and I was definitely lucky.
My family has always been one of the best examples of openness and support I've ever experienced. I don't think I can even begin to comprehend where I might have ended up without my family. I think, only a person of my generation can understand how profound what I'm about to say is. My parents either explicitly told us or strongly enough implied that they would love us if we were gay, followed another religion or even felt uncomfortable with our own gender. I honestly struggle to come to grips with something I could decide that I'm convinced would have lost me the love and support of my parents and family.
But, I don't want to talk about me, or my being bullied. I think/hope my story from the other side of the fence is more helpful. I want to talk about how, through that, I became a part of the problem and likely contributed to the depression or anxiety of others, and ultimately, how talking about it helped me discover all of this.
For all of my "smarts", it seems I could be an idiot. Like I said, I worked around the problems. In this case it meant I would try and absorb aspects of the behaviors of those tormenting me, and, to a degree I would fit in and be accepted. I noticed that those who picked on me often had nicknames for each other. And often times, those nicknames weren't exactly complimentary.
So, I did two things. I started, kind of selectively adopting nicknames or insults people used on me. And in turn, I treated others the same. Maybe it is the dark side of the golden rule. I don't want anyone to make either of these 2 mistakes though; I wasn't trying to be mean, but it doesn't matter that I wasn't trying to be mean. At the end of the day, I was probably smart enough that had I faced these issues or talked about them, that I could have come to some other conclusion. I hurt people. And I can't unhurt them.
I feel some solace in the knowledge that I wasn't doing anything with malicious intent. But, I feel an even greater shame at the fact that I didn't even know that what I was doing was wrong and that it hurt people's feelings. I had a safety net so many others didn't. Instead of using it. I became a part of the problem.
What is the point? I don't really know. I wish there was something profound in all of this. For me, there certainly was. But I'm not sure if it will help others. What helped me to realize I had become like the people causing what I was trying to avoid was hearing that I was doing it. While, not knowing you're doing something wrong doesn't justify it, I'm not sure if I would have ever stopped or changed if I hadn't been told. After all, as perverse as it was, I thought it was both normal and a means of inclusivity. But, while being told about it is conceptually simple and can be transformative... it isn't easy. I have tremendous respect for those 2 individuals.
I know, even for us social animals, it is hard to talk about things which make us feel weak or ashamed. But what I want to get through is; talking can help. I hate that I can't guarantee that it will in every situation. And for that reason, amongst others, it will probably never become something easy to do. But, the more people that find the courage to talk about it, the more I hope it brings attention both to the fact that it happens, and perhaps also shines a light for people like me who maybe don't even know.
Bullying and mental health go hand in hand. Eliminating bullying won't eliminate mental health concerns. But I certainly think bullying is a leading contributor. Hearing stories has helped me to re-examine certain things I used do. It has helped. And I not only feel like it has helped me. I like to think it prevented me from hurting others. And, I hope that this, in turn, helps others see that small things like talking about our experiences can lead to changes. I'm not going to pretend that talking is the only thing we need to do. But, if we can't think of anything else to solve the problem. It seems like it can only help to talk about it, and maybe through that we can uncover the next steps.
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