A Reflection on Mental Health

“The line between insanity and mysticism is thin; the line between reality and unreality is thin. Liminality as a spiritual concept is all about the porousness of boundaries.” - Esmé Weijung Wang, The Collected Schizophrenias

Some lurking thoughts. I am currently reading a collection of essays written by Esmé Weijun Wang, a queer woman with Schizoaffective Disorder. Her writing not only shines a light into the realm of conflict and authenticity navigating her way through chronic illness, but also makes me consider my own journey in an equally humane light. I already know this, but hearing others say it feels a little more enlightening each time: Mental health is hard.

I follow all these yogi’s and spiritual yoga enthusiasts who make it look effortless, dually preaching medical intervention as unnecessary. Our paralyzing issues are simply a result of handling ourselves in an incorrect and chaotic manner. That we just need to sit down and patiently breathe with a posture for 30 minutes in silence. Naturally regulating our inner chemistry is possible if we just give our bodies a chance. We are built to heal. This all seems reasonable.

But as Wang describes her personal challenges and decisions in a world where control feels out of reach, I can’t help but feel compassion and hesitance towards holistic practices. In the worst (and even in the average to below average) times, quieting my mind can happen. Even when sitting feels hard, I’ve had enough practice to be able to take a step back. But even then, my heart still flutters after a few minutes of breathing. So I deepen my exhales for 10 minutes, 20 minutes, 45 minutes, longer. Respite feels temporary as those same voices keep me up at night, breaching into paranoia at its most severe.

After a 3 year hiatus off medication, I began taking Cymbalta for the muscular pain I have been feeling. After a week, I went from flashbacks of screaming in the gynecology office and shame around my femininity to feeling sexy again in the mirror. The mirror unexpectedly becoming a parallel gateway to confidence. The sun feeling pleasurable once again on top of my skin and my bed a nest to curl up in, rather than a vessel for insomnia. I can’t be too sure if this is an anti-depressant effect given the short duration of intake or if my brain just decided to flip a switch. All I can say is I am feeling a little better than I was 3 weeks ago. And it’s easier to appreciate the small practices I do for my body. It’s easier to speak and read my body. That long lost connection coming back through static radio waves. Chronic illness reminds you that moments of comfort should not be taken for granted, nor should a little extra help if you need it.

While I would love to continue my practices and encounter long lasting shade on my yoga mat, doing it all on my own can be hard. Ayurvedic beliefs preach yoga and meditation as an effective cure to all the issues I have. Consequently, looking down at my skin, I feel inadequacy each time I pop a pill in my mouth. I haven’t achieved or am nowhere near to regulating my health in the fashion emphasized by my roots. Instead, I fall back into the bandages of western medications that paint over and criticize the wisdom of my homeland. Where do I fit? I am neither fully allegiant to this nor that.

While finding space for myself in a gray area is a conversation for another day, the respite Cymbalta has potentially given me makes me feel a long overdue ease. That I can save clouds of existential questions for another day. I was comforted to read that Wang is a Taiwanese immigrant raised in an emotionally unstable family, achieving the heights of Yale and Stanford while hiding gashes over her wrists. This story feels all too familiar for me. Her vulnerability reminds me that it’s okay to be different and it’s okay to mess up. To not feel like yourself or get caught up in whirlwinds of negativity. It’s human to feel like you have lost control in category 5 storms. But the cure to self-sabotage is finding hints of forgiveness, allowing it to enhance the elegant messiness of your story. For me, embracing the peace I currently feel from the medication is a way of forgiving myself.