{"id":33,"date":"2024-06-30T13:53:26","date_gmt":"2024-06-30T13:53:26","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thought.run\/en\/?p=33"},"modified":"2024-06-30T13:53:28","modified_gmt":"2024-06-30T13:53:28","slug":"i-hope-society-will-be-where-it-wont-takes-a-time-to-realize-our-illnesses-and-disabilities-01","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thought.run\/en\/i-hope-society-will-be-where-it-wont-takes-a-time-to-realize-our-illnesses-and-disabilities-01\/","title":{"rendered":"I hope society will be where it won’t takes a time to realize our illnesses and disabilities #01"},"content":{"rendered":"
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This is partly machine translated article.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

I intended to write about how people like to label things, and how it can be both good and bad, but I ended up veering off course.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I want to write about my journey to understanding the causes of my struggles a little better. Since it takes time and energy to write in one article, I will split it into parts. This is the first part.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Depression, personality disorders, bipolar disorder, developmental disorders. This mix is who I am. It took me many years to self-diagnose like this. It’s tough to live feeling out of place, being perceived as normal, and trying to act normal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don’t want this to be misunderstood negatively, but sometimes I think I would feel somewhat at peace if I were recognized as “disabled.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It’s like forcing myself to laugh at an unfunny boss’s story or working drenched in sweat because no one lowers the air conditioning temperature in a too-hot office.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I’ve visited many psychiatrists and mental health clinics, but I’ve never been diagnosed with a specific illness or disorder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I started self-harming in middle school. At that time, it was just minor scratches, but it gradually escalated to the point where the scars won’t fade on their own. I didn’t know the term “cutting” or even “self-harm” back then, as a middle schooler, of course.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There are many reasons for self-harm. (By the way, I prefer the term “self-harm” over “cutting” because I feel it doesn’t belittle the act.) It might be to vent frustration, to distract from sadness, to acknowledge feelings of worthlessness, or for other reasons that I can’t remember unless I’m in that moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After self-harming, seeing the wounds and blood can bring a sense of calm, which is often said, and I think it’s true. The overwhelming emotions, discomfort, and the messy feelings in my chest seem to slowly flow out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes, looking at the wounds, I encourage myself by thinking, “I’m trying so hard to live.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In college, I read books like “The Complete Manual of Suicide” and “The Cost of Suicide” and even took antidepressants mentioned in them. I don’t remember the name, but it was a yellow capsule or powder from Pfizer. I could buy it at the pharmacy without restrictions. I remember drinking it with alcohol, smoking, self-harming, and comforting myself. I think all these acts of despair\u2014smoking, drinking, taking pills\u2014are similar to cutting in being forms of self-harm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Through these books (I don’t remember which one), I learned about the differences between SSRIs (Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors) and SNRIs (Serotonin-Norepinephrine Reuptake Inhibitors), which sparked my interest in the effects of various medications.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This has become a story about self-harm, but anyway, with such tendencies, when I wasn’t feeling well, living was really tough, I envied others, felt suffocated, couldn’t express it, and thought, “Something’s wrong. Is this depression?” That was in college.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So, I went to a hospital for the first time for a mental (or rather, a brain) illness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the hospital, I talked about self-harming, the struggles of living, and how I couldn’t share my painful feelings with anyone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Looking back, that hospital provided very attentive care. The doctor was a calm, experienced, and kind woman, and although I don’t remember clearly, I recall undergoing some tests. I was prescribed antidepressants and sleep aids to see how things would go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was nervous for my first visit to a psychiatrist, but the doctor was friendly. However, I don’t think I was diagnosed with anything. At the time, I didn’t feel anything about not being told, “You have this illness\/disorder, so let’s proceed with this treatment.” These kinds of illnesses are hard to diagnose definitively, can change over time or with environment, and that’s just how it is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not being able to continue visiting regularly was also a problem. Honestly, I didn’t feel dramatic effects from the medication. The sleep aid improved my sleep quality, but the antidepressants just made me sleepy without changing my daily mood. So, I got tired of going.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

However, my struggle with living never resolved, and even as an adult, I kept hopping from one hospital to another.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Especially in my first job after graduating college, I experienced typical depression. I didn’t get along with many people at work, and my alcohol and smoking intake increased. I kept getting nagged by people around my age and eventually couldn’t go to work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the end, I went through a cycle of leave, return, and resignation. During that time, even at the hospitals I visited, I was never given a diagnosis, just prescribed antidepressants. Looking back now, that was the time I truly had depression.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I intended to write about how people like to label things, and how it can be both good and bad, but I ended up veering off course. I want to write about my journey to understanding the causes of my struggles a little better. Since it takes time and energy to write in one article, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"swell_btn_cv_data":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[6],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thought.run\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/33"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thought.run\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thought.run\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thought.run\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thought.run\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=33"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/thought.run\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/33\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":37,"href":"https:\/\/thought.run\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/33\/revisions\/37"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thought.run\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=33"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thought.run\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=33"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thought.run\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=33"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}