Stigma

Last week my grandmother phoned to tell me that she was taking me on holiday for two weeks in February, and yet rather than the unadulterated pleasure that this should have caused me, instead I was filled with fear. She doesn’t know that I have OCD.

The stigma attached to mental illness includes the attitudes, feelings and behaviours that occur when a label is placed on an individual or a group, when they possess an undesirable characteristic, when they are seen as crazy, mad or just different. It is debilitating and upsetting, and in some cases, worse than the illness itself. It means that many sufferers fail to seek help, or are reluctant to share their experiences with others, and worst of all, it means that we feel ashamed.

I’ve been lucky – the majority of my friends have been very supportive, but stigma doesn’t necessarily translate itself into pure hostility. For how long will I be thought of us weak – one friend asked me if I thought that I would be able to go back to Medicine – for how long will I be thought of as the girl with OCD, for how long will my illness overshadow my achievements and opinions, how long will I be stuck with this label on my forehead?

How can stigma be addressed? By providing public education for sure, by assuring a fair portrayal in the media and working on awareness, but shouldn’t we start a little closer to home? Should we not take a stand at the root of the problem, by ‘coming out’ as mentally ill, by being brave and not caring about the consequences?

I am, I have to admit, a hypocrite. A few weeks ago I was interviewed for a podcast for OCD sufferers, but am I going to post my episode on Facebook, or email it to my friends? No, because I’m too ashamed, too scared of their reactions, so once again I will hide this huge part of me, stand in front of it and pretend that it isn’t there.

And that’s sad, I think.

Obsessively compulsively yours,

Bellsie