No Shame At All.

A friend told me that there is no shame – “no shame at all,”  she said.  But that isn’t even close to how I felt.  My shame was very strong.  I wanted to hide away, and not tell anyone what was going on for fear of their reactions.  (But almost anyone who cared to know could tell that something was wrong with me with just one look at my empty eyes and my drooping posture.) My husband made me continue to live life, but I really just wanted to stand rigid in one spot,  close my eyes tight,  and not move again until my anxiety was all gone. Plan A did not work out too well.

Instead, I went to talk therapy, which of course began to peel away the layers of the onion (as I like to say), and every alternative therapy I could find.   Acupuncture, homeopathy, meditation, and visits to a gynecologist ( yes – gynecologist, because this of course was probably just menopausal issues) became my routine.  I would not even consider western mental health medication., because to me, that would have been a failure on my part, and an acknowledgement that I really did have a mental illness. I rationalized that if I did not need medication, then I could not have a mental illness., and if I took medication,  then I would in fact truly be sick.   What would people think? What would people say? The stigma.  The embarrassment.  The ever present shame.

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