By: Rudy Caseres
#YourVoiceMatters
I used to be ashamed of my mental illness. I didn't want to tell anyone, especially my family. I thought they'd laugh at me and think I was weak. When I finally told them the truth about why I had been suffering most of my life, I felt as if they didn't embrace me or want to know more about my condition. They just wanted to criticize my “lack of personal strength.” Why? Could it be because my family still saw mental illness as taboo? I still don't get the support I crave from them; but, through organizations such as Mental Health Platform Speak up for Mental Health, I am surrounded by beautiful, compassionate advocates who work every day to erase the stigma and discrimination we face.
Not too long ago, I felt utterly hopeless—I felt that I “deserved” to be unhappy. I have been battling treatment-resistant bipolar disorder (with catatonic features) most of my life. I have never felt like there was anyone I could express my suffering to. I still suffer today, but I choose to no longer let my illness bring my spirit down and inhibit my immense passion for change. In August of 2009—during my service in the U.S. Army— I suffered a catatonic episode. During my catatonic state I could not talk or move, but I could hear all the background chatter as soldiers made cruel remarks about how I looked. It was my first taste of the stigma that is so often spoken of in the mental health world. Even though I posed zero danger to my fellow soldiers, I was treated like a psychopathic criminal.
I was forcibly restrained for many hours even though I pleaded with the doctors and security and told them that I was not a threat. I even had a catheter painfully inserted into my urethra without my consent. No one at the hospital cared about my well-being. Once they needed to fill my bed with another patient who was in crisis, I was released—without ever being screened or advised by a mental health professional. Once I returned to my unit, I was told that I needed to spend a week in an intensive in-patient mental health facility. Once again, my personal dignity was denigrated, and I was treated like a menace to society. It was there that I was diagnosed with schizophrenia despite the fact that I have never reported experiencing psychosis or delusions of grandeur. However, it meant I was no longer an “asset” to the U.S. military.
Catatonia is still very much misunderstood among both the medical field and the general public. Unfortunately, this was not the last episode I would endure, and it was certainly not the last time I was hospitalized and restrained against my will. I do sincerely believe that my tireless work as an advocate will one day lead to more humane treatment of mental health consumers.
When I was discharged from the Army, I had absolutely no clue what to do with my life. Everything promised by my recruiter meant nothing now. All of the stories my friends told me of their tours of duty filled me with envy. Working in military intelligence, I had the respect of my family and peers—even strangers wanted to shake my hand as soon as they saw the uniform. I knew that Army life wasn't meant for me and my idiosyncratic way of viewing the world—and yet—I felt as if I had thrown away any hope of living a meaningful life. For several years, I meandered through day-to-day living without any motivation to achieve anything greater. I went back to school, but I didn't know the reason why. I sought help from various psychotherapists, but none of them could save me from my constant, and overwhelming sense of existential doom. I simply could not care less about contributing to society or to the mental health community.
It wasn't until September 2013 that I met the right therapist—one who just wanted me to be myself. Unlike others who told me what I “should” be doing with my life, she empowered me to seek out what I actually wanted to do. It took many months to realize what I actually wanted out of life, but once I found it, I felt as if there was no moving in reverse. Finally, my negative self-image began to take a turn for the better! After many months of doubt, denial, and emotional turmoil, I began to see that I did deserve happiness—that I was actually pretty damn awesome all along! But I needed a cause to rally my newfound motivation around. That cause should have been obvious from the very beginning.
During this period, my therapist was organizing a club on campus that worked on mental health awareness and engagement with college students. That club was called Active Minds and it would change my life. In the first meeting, the first members to join— as well as myself—had no clue what we were actually capable of achieving together. What we did need to do immediately was elect a chapter president. I have never been the team- leader type and I still wrestled with self-doubt. Nevertheless, I still threw my name in the running. To my surprise, I was easily elected.
Soon enough, I built the club into a major player on campus and my ambition knew no limits. What I didn't know was that this would set off the trigger for a major manic episode that would last for months and end with me crashing into yet another major depressive episode. I was frequently admonished by my advisors for expecting too much from club members and working too feverishly. However, I chose to not care because I held the belief that I would never crash and I would be the foremost mental health advocate in the entire world. I thought I'd make hundreds of thousands of dollars a year from my hard work. When the unfortunate realization came to me that there isn't much money at all in mental health, I once again felt hopeless. I once again expected to live the rest of my life in abject poverty and constant struggle.
But I know now that not having material wealth is not the end of the world. In fact, the people I look up to the most live their lives modestly and give as much as they can—even if they don't have much themselves. I know now that it doesn't matter if I profit from things I'm passionate about because I have something that can't be bought. Looking back on the vicissitudes of my mental health, I can now say wholeheartedly that I wouldn't be the man I am today if it weren't for all that I've experienced throughout my life. Yes, I still battle with ignorant peers and a lack of support from governmental organizations and representatives.
Yes, I still have to wait way too long for an appointment with a competent psychiatrist who doesn't just want to prescribe my problems away. But, I also have a therapist who treats me with equality and honors my individuality. I now belong to a network of like-minded advocates who inspire me to do more to further our cause—even when I feel too depressed to get out of bed, let alone speak in front of a large audience about my depression.
I now have a reason to make the most out of every single day I have on this big, blue, “crazy” earth. And I vow to never again betray what has been given to me. I have a gift and that gift is to be the voice for all who suffer in silence,—for all who suffer discrimination. Most assuredly, the day will come where this abhorrent stigma is eradicated and that day is coming soon!
Contact: rudy.caseres@me.com