I’M AFRAID (OF MY OWN BRAIN)

TW: SUICIDAL IDEATION AND SELF-HARM

The other day I was being interviewed for an article about antidepressant side effects and I shared my last experience of going off medication in April of 2021. It was over Zoom and I’ve become accustomed to sharing the most intimate details of my mental health struggles in succinct soundbites as I sip my tea. I told the reporter that as soon as I went off the medication my instinct to self-harm (in this case hit and scratch myself) came back and I found myself crying on my floor. It was proof that I am someone who deeply benefits from medication, so I quickly went back on Trintellix. We wrapped things up and I started thinking about what else I had to accomplish when my fiance, John, came into my office.

He had overheard the interview from the other room and was shocked by details that had become commonplace for me after decades of being mentally ill. We were already dating in April of 2021, but I guess I never told him I had been hitting myself or uncontrollably crying. He just thought I wasn’t doing well and wanted to go back on my meds. Obviously, if we had been further along in our relationship or living together I would have shared more, but at the time it felt like something I simply needed to handle. And I did by sending my psychiatrist an email informing her that she had been correct to be worried about my decision to stop and would she please send in another prescription to my local pharmacy. Thank you so much! Case closed.

Except the case is never really closed when it comes to my mental health. For all my progress, I remain in fear that one day I will lose control of my mind. I have tiny flickers of these moments when I can’t stop cleaning to appease my OCD, or I can’t stop worrying due to my anxiety. But I always return to myself within a few hours or after a puff of weed. What worries me most is what if I can’t come back one day? What if something happens that undoes all the hard work I’ve put in day after day, year after year to have some level of equilibrium?

At 34 and about to be married, the idea of having a child is no longer a faraway decision. As my friends get pregnant and have babies, I’m being forced to confront not just what it would mean for my life to become a mother but what it would mean for my mind. Considering I contracted OCD at age four through PANDAS, I clearly have a biological disposition toward mental health issues. While anything is possible, it seems unlikely that I could get away scot-free without a bout of postpartum depression or anxiety. I worry that I won’t be able to connect with my future, hypothetical child because I won’t be able to connect with anything. That I won’t want to connect with anything because I will want to be dead.

It's normal to have fears about being a parent. The sleepless nights. The lack of freedom. All the kids’ movies on repeat. But we talk less openly about the fear of losing our minds. I have no way to know if this will happen to me, but for those of us who have had to meticulously work on creating internal stability brick by brick, any major shift to the routine is cause for concern. Especially when hormones are involved. For once, it doesn’t feel irrational to worry. 

But what do I do with this worry? Do I let it prevent me from starting a family if John and I both want to soon(ish)? Or do I accept the risk of “losing my mind” the same way I accept every other risk in my life? I have spent so many years equating mental health with physical health only to realize that I do still view them differently. I’m realizing that I view my physical health as something to attend to and care for but not something I can overly control. While I view my mental health as something I am constantly trying to outrun or outmaneuver. I don’t worry about getting cancer, despite not wearing enough sunblock and putting my hands in those LED lights so my gel nails won’t chip. But I do consistently worry that I will have a mental breakdown. I fear that if I release any of the control I have over my brain, it will spiral into disaster.

Except…that might never happen. The worst of my mental health struggles may well be behind me. Much to my anxiety’s chagrin, it’s impossible to say either way. All I can do is decide how I want to handle this uncertainty. And I am leaning towards a “wait and see” attitude instead of a “prepare for the worst” 10-point plan. If something happens like a pregnancy or life event that causes me to mentally fall apart, I will have people in my corner helping to put me back together. And if I never get fully back together, that’s okay too in the same way that some people are unable to fully recover from a physical illness. Our bodies and our minds are fragile. We can care for them and strengthen them, but we are far from immortal. And to think otherwise just sets you up for disappointment.

I’ll admit it feels wonderfully freeing to admit this fear of mine. As I put these words down, I can sense the worry losing some of its power. Maybe I’ll have a mental breakdown some day! Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll have two or three! I can’t claim to be doing the work to destigmatize mental illness without talking about the scariest parts. So, I am going to stop hiding this concern that one day I will lose control of my mind from those around me. I just hope they don’t respond with “that won’t happen” or “you have nothing to worry about.” Instead, I hope they say, “if that does happen someday, I’ll be here.”

xoxo

Allison

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