Articles About Clinical Depression, Dysthymia, Double Depression, and Related Issues

The Stigma of Mental Illness

by Mary R. Shefferman

  Tradition holds fast. Stigma clings. It's hard to distance ourselves from the stereotypical "lunatic." There's almost a mystique surrounding mental illness; it's a curiosity, something to be looked at in a sideshow from safely behind a sturdy railing.

  In fact, the entire stereotype of mental illness is born of something much simpler and less glamorous: ignorance.

  Education in schools and through public health outlets is a good start. Consumer advertising for antidepressant medications even helps to bring the issue of depression into the mainstream. We're sowing the seeds: depression is a biological illness, a chemical imbalance. A physical illness of the brain. It's not much different in that sense from diabetes. The brain doesn't produce enough serotonin (or other chemicals); the pancreas doesn't produce enough insulin. Simple.

  Celebrities add their hands in helping to overcome the stigma of mental illness when they come forward to talk about their psychiatric conditions. But there's a double standard applied to musicians and Hollywood actors. It's all right for Carrie Fisher to be bipolar; but Joe down the street is just weird or creepy. We call Betty Ford a strong and courageous woman; but Sally at the PTA is just a drunk. Somehow it's all right for those "showbiz" people to be "messed up." They're distant and hardly real.

  I believe a major part of the problem lies in the classification of "mental" as compared to "physical" illness. We have evidence that nearly all mental illness -- depressive illnesses in particular -- are biological, physical in nature. But the term "mental illness" conjures up rubber rooms, straightjackets, and barred windows. The fact is that the majority of people with mental illness are working at your company, eating at your favorite restaurant, or even teaching your children.

  Each of us learns to deal with the stigma attached to mental illness in our own way. One person's method or mental gymnastics may not suffice for another person. To get past the stigma of mental illness in society, each of us with a mental illness must get past the stigma in our own minds.

  My way of dealing with my mental illnesses (depression, dysthymia, anxiety disorder) is to talk about them openly to anyone who cares to listen. Part of what feeds stigma is fear of stigma. Around we go. The more we try to hide and whisper about mental illness, the more mental illness is perceived to be something to hide and be ashamed of. The same goes for substance abuse. Someone has to break the cycle. Many have to break the cycle.

  For all that depression gets mentioned in the popular press, it isn't enough. The public needs to better understand other depressive illnesses and other mental illnesses. For example, we don't hear about dysthymia (dysthymic disorder or chronic depression) in ads for Zoloft or Wellbutrin. Even as the stigma surrounding clinical (major) depression begins to erode, dysthymia remains in the dark. A huge number of people still think that Dissociative Identity Disorder or DID (formerly called Multiple Personality Disorder) is schizophrenia.

  As with many issues, I believe there are several "right" ways to eradicate the stigma surrounding mental illness. With joint efforts of public health departments, mental health advocacy groups, pharmaceutical companies, and people with mental illness, we can help more people understand what mental illness is and what it isn't.

  One of my strongest motivations to do this web site is to help increase the awareness of dysthymia. You do not have to be desperately depressed to have a treatable illness. I also hope to help encourage people who think they may have some form of depression to seek help.

  It may not be much, but it's what I can do. For now.

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List of Articles

• The Stigma of Mental Illness
   

• Ferrets and Depression

Ferrets and Depression

By Mary R. Shefferman

  It has been several months since we published an issue of Modern Ferret. Initially, I had planned to write about how we live in a different world now; but we all know the changes, and most of us have adapted to them and regained our footing (mostly).

  For me, that readjustment to life after September 11 has taken longer and been much more difficult than I would have liked or expected. We don’t get to choose how deeply events affect us or whether those events will trigger underlying troubles or dredge up strength we never knew we had. To say that I am making my way back in a slow and certain manner is enough. I am a different person now. In some ways, better and stronger; in some ways, not.

  What remains unchanged in me is my passionate commitment to keeping Modern Ferret the accurate resource for ferret information than it has always been. However, my love for these furry little people has changed; it has become stronger. I feel a connection to my ferret companions that is more precious and intense than it ever was.

  When the dust of September 11 settled everywhere but within me, what still brought me peace were these friends: Trixie, Balthazar, Cauliflower, Koosh, and Gabrielle. I lived in a black-and-white still life, but for the glow and whirr of my ferrets. They refused to leave me be. They insisted I play. The purity of their efforts to “bring back” one of their own touched me when nothing else could. The simplicity of their lives was one of the few comforts I could find in a world that had virtually sprung from my darkest nightmares and deepest fears. Lying on the floor with Balthazar sticking his damp nose in my ear made me believe that maybe everything could be all right again. Holding Trixie in my arms and feeling her warmth, watching her breathe, gave me a glimpse of the beauty of pure, uncomplicated life.

  While Bal and Trixie were gentle and sweet, Gabby and Koosh were the most insistent. Little dopey, “living-in-my-own-little-ferret-world” Gabby showed the depths of her persistence -- I’d never have guessed it was in her to be such a mothering sort. She jumped at my legs tirelessly. When I sat at the computer, Gabby climbed up the chair over and over until I could do nothing but get on the floor and play with her. It seemed like she played with more urgency -- she was on a mission. She rolled like a little furry log and bounced and climbed up on me -- stood on my head! If I tried to go back to the computer, she’d be right there again, refusing to allow me to hide in time-killing online games. If I was sitting on the couch, she’d walk across my lap every few minutes, as if checking on me. She tolerated my hugs and kisses better than before (and since).

  Koosh was a little less kindly than Gabby, but just as insistent that I play. He would clamber up my legs -- whether I was sitting or standing. There was no saying “No” to Koosh. If I didn’t stop to play with him, he would try to trip me (more than usual -- it seemed more intentional than absent-minded). He would dance and race around the room, then he’d run back to see what I was doing. Between Koosh and Gabby, I was coerced into spending a good deal of time and energy playing, despite how I was feeling.

  Cauliflower loves to play with people -- prefers playing with people to playing with other ferrets -- but he does not like to be cuddled. That’s a sissy thing. Cauli’s got too many other important ferret things to do to sit still being stroked and cooed at by a human. Give him a treat. Toss a ball for him to chase. Dangle something so he can leap for it. But don’t get any funny ideas about lounging on the couch with Cauli on your lap. It’s not going to happen. But during that time, it did. It wasn’t a lot of cuddling, but Cauli showed a definite tolerance for me holding him. He knew I needed him.

  Too many people underestimate the power and value of animal companionship. In these months after September 11, I’ve come to appreciate my human family, as many of us have. But I’ve also come to better appreciate my ferret family. Now, even more than before, I’m compelled to help ferrets live better lives by expanding my knowledge about them and sharing that knowledge, experience, and understanding with as many people as possible. I want everyone to see how beautiful these little animals are -- not only their soft fur and inquisitive little faces, but their compassion and friendship, too.

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Mental Illness and Art

by Mary R. Shefferman

  Madness and art have always seemed to go hand-in-hand. I've tried to read as much as I can learn about this apparent link. At least one study found that people were creative in spite of their illness, not because of it. However, new brain imaging techniques have shown that there may be something the brains of artists (or writers) and those with a mental illness have in common. It will be interesting to see how this all shakes out.

  MORE TO COME