I want to take a minute to say a few words about a word that I have come to despise.
Oh sure, we use it all the time: My little sister drives me crazy. I swear, I think my boss must be crazy! If the kids don’t stop arguing I’m going to go crazy! What’s wrong with you? Are you crazy?
You get the idea.
Truth is, I never gave it much thought. It’s just one of those words – a catch all kind of word.
And then one day something happened that changed everything. My beautiful girl was having an incredibly hard time with the depression. She’d passed the point of crying and moved into the point of nothingness. The place where nothing seems to matter. It’s a place where at one time she would have resorted to self harming just to feel something – to convince herself that she still could.
The PTSD symptoms were strong and she felt like she was beyond hope or help. She looked at me with eyes that had given up and she said, “Mom, just face it. I’m crazy. I know it. Everyone knows it. You need to admit it.”
She was scared. She did, after all, hear voices in her head. She did, after all, harm herself. She did, after all, live in that dark void where feeling melted away and was replaced with emptiness. She did, after all, think that she would be better off dead.
She feared that if she were honest about all her symptoms and all the things that were going on inside of her head that she would be deemed “crazy.” She was sure of it.
She was terrified the doctor would have her locked up, away from me, key thrown away because there was nothing that could be done to “fix” her. She had decided that others who had often told her, among other harmful things, that there was something “wrong” with her, that she was mental, she was crazy, she was schizophrenic, she was insane – that they were right.
First, I assured her that sharing her symptoms would never cause her to be taken away and put in a hospital for life. She would never be rid of me, and I most definitely was not giving up on her, or abandoning her.
Then I explained to her that there are all kinds of mental illnesses in the world. She already knew this. She is a smart girl. But why is it so hard to know things, yet believe, when it comes to yourself, something different?
Depression is a mental illness. Would she EVER tell someone who had depression that they were crazy? Of course not. Anxiety, ADHD, PTSD, Self Harm, Panic Disorder – all mental or mood disorders.
A person might have a diagnosis of a mental illness, maybe even more than one – but that wasn’t crazy. Why? Because there was no such thing! There is such a thing as having an illness but not such a thing as just being given the catch all diagnosis of crazy.
This has become a dirty word in my book. A word that carries such negative connotations. Think about movies you have seen where insane asylums are used to invoke fear in the movie watcher. We see someone with behaviors we don’t understand and we whisper about them behind their back; that they’re crazy.
What does that even mean? What are we saying about them? We aren’t using the term in any productive fashion.
Crazy. The word perpetuates stigma. It separates those with mental illnesses from the rest of society. It singles people out. It creates the thought that these people are less, that they are somehow broken beyond repair, and that the world has given up on them.
I for one, refuse to be a part of that.
Maybe I’m being hypersensitive about the subject. That’s possible.
But I hate to see a girl with so much to give to the world, with so much potential, with so many hopes and dreams, assuming that she can’t reach her dreams because she is less. Because she isn’t normal. Having depression doesn’t make her crazy. Being suicidal doesn’t make her crazy. Living with PTSD doesn’t make her crazy.
Because Crazy doesn’t exist. Crazy is a label. I don’t like labels.
Labels are words like “Crazy” “Dumb” “Lazy” “Worthless” “Weird” “Freak”
They are vastly different from words that give a diagnosis like “ADHD” “Depression” “Anxiety” “Bipolar Disorder” “Schizophrenia”
Labels are about hate and being misunderstood. Diagnoses are about understanding, treating, and helping.
Let’s all be helpers.