seaferntides:

can we just take a moment to recognise mentally ill people who are high functioning?

the ones that constantly question the validity of their illness(es) because they managed to get out of bed this morning/are keeping up with their classes/can still socially interact? because they can do the things that most neurotypicals can do, even if they find it very difficult?

the ones that are questioned by their loved ones on the existence of their disorders? that face constant ableist remarks of “but you can’t be depressed/ill/manic/psychotic/etc!” “you don’t look mentally ill!” “it’s just hormones!” “oh, have you tried yoga?” “you’re just on a journey of finding yourself.” “you’re too happy/too smart to be mentally ill!”

the ones who aren’t taken seriously by their therapists/doctors/psychiatrists because of how self aware they are and how well they can articulate their feelings and thoughts?

the ones that, on their bad days, are told that “others have it worse” just because they don’t outwardly show their symptoms all of the time?

the ones that have their pain and their struggles constantly diminished until they don’t know what is real and what isn’t because of this?

the ones that don’t receive the treatments or correct diagnosis in a short matter of time (or at all) because “they’re not bad enough?”

the ones that end up suicidal or manic or psychotic in hospital with no warning because their illnesses aren’t taken seriously until its too late?

as a high functioning neurodivergent young person suffering from a myriad of different mental health issues, i see you and i hear you and i support you.

grapehyasynth:

mattxpike:

High-functioning anxiety sounds like…

You’re not good enough. You’re a bad friend. You’re not good at your job. You’re wasting time. You’re a waste of time. Your boyfriend doesn’t love you. You’re so needy. What are you doing with yourself? Why would you say that? What if they hate it? Why can’t you have your shit together? You’re going to get anxious and because you’re going to get anxious, you’re going to mess everything up. You’re a fraud. Just good at faking it. You’re letting everybody down. No one here likes you.

All the while, it appears perfectly calm.

It’s always looking for the next outlet, something to channel the never-ending energy. Writing. Running. List-making. Mindless tasks (whatever keeps you busy). Doing jumping jacks in the kitchen. Dancing in the living room, pretending it’s for fun, when really it’s a choreographed routine of desperation, trying to tire out the thoughts stuck in your head.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen it written out as if it were describing me exactly.