Suppression in Mental Health

That’s how I’ve been able to get to the point I’m at with mental illness.

It’s not that I have it under control so much as I’ve just gotten very, very good at suppressing it, at suppressing any thought/words/behaviors that might indicate that I’m not a perfectly functioning member of society.

I’ve been doing it my whole life. When I first felt like there was something different about myself, at a very young age, I started making an effort to keep that difference (though I had no idea what it was) a secret. I know now that the word for what I’ve always done is “masking.” I did not know that word when I was 6 or 16 or 30. Masking is just where you are constantly pretending to be “normal” (whatever your perception of that is), doing and saying things just to fit in or so no one looked at you like you had three heads, at least.

I’ve gotten better about the masking and the suppression of my symptoms. Thankfully I have people around me who won’t treat me differently or judge me when I say, “I’m manic today,” or “I’m having a really rough time right now.”

I’ve gotten better but I haven’t stopped. I’m not sure I know how to stop.

And this is why, I believe, I constantly feel like an imposter in just about every aspect of life. There are very few people who see who I really am and those people love me so much and so well, but I still struggle with fully accepting and being who I am with the rest of the world. I still have a whole lot of self-doubt. I bet I start typing something only to erase it at least 10 times a day, whether it’s a message or a tweet or whatever. I’ve actually typed out paragraphs and then thought to myself, “No one gives a shit what you have to say so why even bother?” and then deleted the whole thing. Multiple times a day, sometimes.

I hold back so much, suppress so much, that tension and anxiety feels a little like a default state.

I feel like there are a lot of things I’ve never told anyone. Not anyone at all, not a single soul. Things I’ve never said out loud or even written about. I’ve suppressed so much for so long that the suppressed me feels like the only me even though I know she’s not.

I know now that I need to open up a lot more to my therapist. And to the most important people in my life. And to myself. Because I’m tired of feeling like I’m drowning in the middle of the sea, all alone.

I don’t feel like that all the time, but… yeah. That. It’s not as bad as it used to be. More like now I’ve got a life preserver in the middle of the sea and maybe someday I’ll have a boat and I’ll make it to shore and just… be.