I'll Take The Sticks And Stones, Please

Warning: This essay addresses a variety of mental illnesses and their symptoms.  It is very personal and not very funny. 

“Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can  never hurt me”, said no one ever.  Words are the worst.  And the worst thing about them is that sometimes we use hurtful words without realizing it.  The media is comfortable using  mental illness terms as regular adjectives, so we are too.   However, this is not a victimless oversight. Mental illness is a favorite subject in the media; unfortunately, the way it is presented is inaccurate and hurtful.  This gives society the wrong idea about what it actually means to be mentally ill, and the acceptability of certain terminology.  Why are horror movies often set in and around mental hospitals?  Why is schizophrenia a popular “character trait” for villains?  Why is it okay to say “I’m so depressed” when facing a minor inconvenience?  As a person who has suffered from mental illness, and seen friends and family members suffer as well, this subject is very important to me.  My goal is not to make others feel guilty for enjoying certain movies or television shows, only to think critically about the messages they send and the phrasing they use.  I also ask that my readers take a close look at their own vocabulary and see if anything needs sifting out.  The way we perceive and appropriate mental illness may be rooted in the media, but the words that come out of our mouths are entirely ours to control.

I was always a bit annoyed with people who used these terms inaccurately, but it wasn’t always coming from the right place.  I used to be really passionate about using words properly (I was that annoying person who pointed out when someone said “literally” when they meant “figuratively”).  So when my friend said in half-earnest, “You [expletive], now I’m depressed” in response to an insult from her older sister, I became irritated.  Was I angry on behalf of people who actually have depression, and live most of their days in sadness or numbness? No, fifteen year old me was annoyed because a girl said “depressed” when she meant “offended”.  Had I heard that exchange more recently, I would have been equally annoyed but for a completely different reason.

Like most people, I was not aware of this issue until it was brought to my attention, though I received my lesson the hard way.  Throughout high school, I battled an eating disorder that peaked during my senior year.  I realized what was happening and knew I needed help but I was terrified to admit it.  Most people I knew thought eating disorders only happened to shallow people who only valued looks.  I didn’t want anyone to think that of me, so I hid my condition for a long time.  When I finally told my parents they were sad, but wonderfully understanding.  They helped me to get the help I needed.  

Due to the trifecta of depression, panic disorder, and anorexia, I eventually started going to therapy six hours a day.  Even there, certain mental illness terms were banned, which I found fascinating.  Even at a place where I was supposed to be completely honest, I wasn’t allowed to say words at the risk that they could hurt somebody else in the group.  I viewed this as a positive thing.  It wasn’t censorship, it was consideration.  I became more sensitive to phrases, and I was surprised when other people weren’t.  Around this time, I had a conversation with one of my friends in “the real world” who was about to go on an audition.  He mentioned nerves, which was understandable, but then he said “I’m gonna have a panic attack”.  I immediately went into caring-mode and asked if he was okay, and whether he needed me to bring him anything.  He gave me a confused look and said “No, I’m fine.  It was a joke”.  After having recently begun to experience regular panic attacks myself, I didn’t even register that it was supposed to be a joke.  Panic attacks were something scary, humiliating, and exhausting.  I was perplexed that someone could use the term so lightly.

When I was finally back at school after the long recovery process, one of my best friends asked me “Was it anorexia or bulimia? Wait, obviously not anorexia, you’re a normal weight”, while looking my body up and down.  Aside from making me feel very vulnerable and anxious, this comment made me realize that we think eating disorders are visible and visibly distinguishable from each other, and usually they are not.  So there is a lack of understanding that usually accompanies a lack of tact.  I felt like I had been punched in the gut every time I heard my diagnoses used as adjectives. The example that sticks out most in my mind occurred while I was watching TV with my family.  The main character was hoping to be accepted to a certain college, and she had finally received the letter.  Eyeing the envelope, she pronounced it “a little anorexic to be an acceptance letter.”  I couldn’t breathe.  What amazed me the most was that my family did not pick up on this at all.  They did not notice the phrase, or my reaction (which to be fair, was silent).  Of course, I would never hold this against my family.  I had become very sensitive to mental illness terms, and it’s understandable that they had not.  It did bring to light though how incidents like this occur all the time and we have to work hard to notice them.  I also realized that not only was the line insensitive, it was inaccurate.  The media was spreading false ideas of what anorexia is. The character could have just said “thin”, and the scene would remain unchanged.  It only takes a few seconds to think of an alternate word, and it could save someone from being reminded of the worst time of their life.

In case that last sentence seems extreme, I can assure you it is not unrealistic.  A few months after I came out of intensive therapy, I was watching The Perks of Being a Wallflower with friends.  At one point, the female lead jokes, “I'm not a bulimic, I'm a bulimist!” (It should be noted that the character did not have an eating disorder).  The line offered nothing to the plot except to establish said character as “quirky” and could have been wholly left out.  Meanwhile, I felt like I had the wind knocked out of me.  I stood up and walked to my room, hoping to breathe for a few minutes and return to my friends.  However, I ended up having a full-blown panic attack.  In minutes, I had transformed from laughing and surrounded by friends, to crying and hyperventilating on the floor alone.  No one else had picked up on the line, and only one person even noticed I had left.

Perhaps coincidentally, perhaps not, that person later revealed to me that they had been struggling with bipolar disorder for most of their life.  It was frustrating that people often found it “scary” instead of attempting to understand.  My friend had concerns similar to mine, telling me that they winced every time someone said “the weather has been really bipolar lately” and things to that effect.  I had to admit that I said stuff like that all the time, but promised to stop.  To this day, I do not use “bipolar” to describe anything other than a person with that specific diagnosis, and I am quick to gently correct people who do.

And that is all I am asking you to do.  Examine your own language and see if any words need to go.  Mental illness terms are of course fine to say, providing we are using them in the way they are meant to be used.  For example, when the situation calls for it, I say “I used to have anorexia”, but I would never say “I should get anorexic to lose some weight”.   Other phrases such as “I’m so full, I wish I was bulimic”, “my mom is so bipolar sometimes”, “You’re giving me an anxiety attack”, should be discarded (unless they are said in sincerity, in which case proper concern should follow). I am not asking anyone to boycott The Perks of Being a Wallflower, nor to stop watching TV shows like Criminal Minds or movies like Suicide Squad (both of which contain numerous villains who are all mentally ill).  Watch what you want, only take it with a grain of salt.  Know that media representations of mental illness are not sufficiently reliable, including the idea that mental illnesses are terms that can be applied to anything distasteful. Also, be part of the positive change.  If you notice a friend using terms that could be insensitive or anxiety-inducing, gently correct them.  Our words can hurt, and the best thing we can do is try to minimize their negative effects.