It’s a common complaint among us crazies – mental illness is not funny. People would never make fun of someone with one leg, or someone missing fingers. They would not mock a person in a wheelchair behind their back. So what gives with people feeling free and funny about making fun of someone with a brain disorder?
I was in a skit at my church last Sunday. Every character had a mental illness of some kind. I had PTSD. It was not all that funny and the only reason I agreed to do it was because, “if you can’t laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at?” I question my choice. About five people in the congregation know about my mental health status, and the rest might have guessed but don’t know for sure. There has been a part of me, for the last two-three months that wants to get up there and tell everyone the “truth” about me. As I type I realize the “truth” is that I’m a wife and mother, a terrible dancer and a write an unpopular blog. Oh yeah, I have bipolar (and OCD and ADD), too. And a whole lot of a time it’s not a big deal. When it is…
I have been working on a good description of bipolar disorder. In 100 words or less describe what it means to be bipolar, OCD and ADD. The bipolar kittens are a great word-picture. I was talking to my mom and told her it meant you have all the pain, torture and sadness of your mother dying, for absolutely no reason at all. It means that at times you understand the secrets of the universe. OCD means I used to have to touch someone’s pretty scarf. It’s not like I want to, it’s a great big have to. My life will end if I do not touch that piece of fabric. I must touch it. As soon as possible. And ADD means that my mind wanders off if you are not interesting enough.
They are “working” definitions that is, I’ll keep working on them.