Recently I was at my daughter’s book report parade at school. A young girl walked with the arm of a woman around her. The little girl had tears running down her face. I did not know why, but I remember feeling like her, afraid to go in front of people, afraid of being judged, but more importantly, I was afraid of being rejected. Keeping people at arm’s length, some may call it a defense mechanism, I called it avoiding rejection. In life, we are supposed to be social, have support systems, have friendships, connections, share the details of life with others. At the same time, we cannot share too much or we run the risk of people judging us which may lead to rejection. There is the push to destigmatize mental illness in society today. But how many of those who share PSA’s on social media are the same people who move to the edge of the sidewalk when approaching someone because they are talking to themselves. People move to the edge out of fear of catching that, mental illness, that is. I can understand moving to the edge if water was shooting out of a building and someone is avoiding getting wet, but a person with a mental illness is not going to get you wet or take over your soul. They will see yet another person in society rejecting them.
I remember back in elementary school I knew I was different and couldn’t tell my secrets to other kids. There was a boy, Robert, in our grade who had mental health issues, breaking things, running around the classroom to get away from the teacher, saying only those words that the adults say. The other kids in class rejected him. Another girl, Nikki, in our grade was slightly overweight, picked her nose, smelled a little funny, and would just stare at kids rather than talk. She was rejected by kids in class too. There was me, acquaintances with everyone but struggling to have close friendships, maybe self-protecting when I didn’t realize I was to avoid that rejection Robert and Nikki experienced. My perception of events or understanding of what they said to me was never how they meant it to be. I wanted so desperately to fit in but my delusions and depression screamed to keep them away because they might find out and I would be right there with Robert and Nikki, a complete outcast. I became good at self-protecting by picking a fight when people got too close or twisting things so no one was too close to avoid rejection and just had to wait a week or two to mend the situation. I asked my mom a hypothetical situation about kids teasing other kids and if I should be friends with them. She gave some typical mom advice. I went to school the next day and announced I could no longer be friends with anyone anymore because my mom said so. Twisted those words of advice right up to work in my favor and went and sat by myself on the swings. I was going to reject them before they found out about my mental illness and rejected me.
I did not know how to play. I was the girl who would ask for the toys, Barbies, dolls, but they were for display, not for make-believe play. I was never coordinated, so while most of my friend group was into sports, I could barely walk straight without falling. I would learn later in life I had arthritis and a slew of other auto-immune disorders. The winters in Montana made my body hurt; I just wanted to lay at home on the hot water bed or on the floor in front of the fireplace with the heat bringing comfort to my body. My arthritis only made my ability to be “sporty” even more difficult. I got good at just saying I did not feel well and staying home, avoiding social situations by using my physical ailments as an excuse. Only back then, they could not figure out what was wrong with me physically, so it was all attributed to my mental illness, as they would say. I was making it up; my mom needed to force me to go to school, but this mentally ill child was too stubborn for anyone to win. I had to self-protect, I had to avoid people finding out, I had to sabotage those friendships. I would go to any length to avoid rejection. But at the same time, I was sad, I wanted those friendships, that closeness, connection. I wanted to just be myself and not have to worry if people found out about my mental illness I was not going to be rejected.
Middle school definitely divided me from others, placing me in that group with Nikki and Robert. Everyday I feared lunch because it was a matter of who would let me sit with them and talk to them. I was in the sixth grade when I had my first suicide attempt and hospitalization. I took a hunting knife to my wrists just wanting the pain to end. I wanted to be able to walk into the lunch room and have friends but instead I would sit down and rejection would sit in as kids moved over or turned their backs when I tried to talk. I went to all kinds of lengths to fit in, doing drugs, drinking, dying my hair. I wanted to be accepted, I could no longer reject them first because I was the reject. In high school the pattern continued. To this day I have no great stories of friendships in middle school or high school because I had no friends. I worked my ass off taking extra classes just to graduate a year early because I was tired of being rejected.
Fast forward from early adulthood to now, I can’t say at some point the rejection stopped. Dating never was a positive experience. People with mental illness, I think, tend to gravitate to abusive situations because they know, realistically, someone does not want to deal with delusions and depression. Hiding in the dark house on a sunny day because I might be found and killed does not sound like an amazing date idea. Rejection would come from the opposite sex if the person was a positive partner because this shit is intense. Everyone leaves is now my motto. I still try to hide my schizophrenia from people. Rejection hurts even more now because of how deep that wound is. At work, I deal with a lot of people who have mental illness. I see how my coworkers treat those who talk about being attacked, seeing things, and talking about things we have no idea what they are saying. They are the Robert and Nikki of my present life. I hide who I am because those PSA’s being shared are really working, so much so that people who share those PSA’s on social media are the same ones laughing, teasing, and excluding those with mental illness. So I hide who I am, I keep to myself, I avoid friendships, relationships I sabotage, and I hurt myself to avoid the internal pain because rejection is too painful. I will sit at the table with Robert and Nikki, I take the morning cup of coffee out to the guy in the street screaming and talking to himself to ensure he eats. I hear what my coworkers say behind my back for being nice to the guy. Then I sit at my own table so I do not get close enough to experience that rejection when they find out I am no different than Robert and Nikki.
Please Note: The information provided in this post is for educational and informational purposes only. It is not intended as a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or qualified mental health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this blog. Reliance on any information provided by this blog is solely at your own risk. If you are in crisis or you think you may have a medical emergency, call your doctor or emergency services immediately.