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Winter 2011/12 | Vol 15 No 2

Focus

Daisies & bruises

When growing up is difficult

By Erin Schulthies

Like all kids, I was excited to grow up, but I never expected my teenage years to take the direction they did. Instead of growing into the world, I felt myself withdrawing as I experienced major depression and anxiety. My symptoms became unbearable when I turned 16—the age in Ontario when youth in the mental health system begin to switch to the adult system. I felt the change between the two systems immediately.

The biggest difference I found between youth and adult mental health services was the attitude of hospital staff. With children and youth, the goal is to help patients recover and move on to a healthier life. The adult mental health system, however, brings with it an air of nonchalance about your specific recovery. When I entered the psychiatry ward at 16, I felt like no one wanted to help me recover. Instead, the priority was discharge because there were so few beds to go around. I felt like a statistic more than a person and that deeply affected my sense of self.

The adult psychiatry ward houses people with a wide range of illnesses of various ages, but I’ve always been one of the youngest during my hospital stays (I’m now 26). At 16, it was particularly hard to be around the patients most disconnected from reality and it took me a long time to learn that I should trust no one. It’s difficult because especially in our teens, our impulse is to connect with others for safety and comfort. It’s terrifying for a teen to maintain any sense of self-worth when they are hospitalized alongside patients in a truly dangerous state.

It would have helped if staff had educated me about my rules and rights as a patient on the adult ward. My self-esteem was so low that I silently remained with roommates who bullied and controlled me because of my age.

My mental illnesses completely derailed my life as a young adult in terms of normal developmental challenges. At school, they caused a rift between me and my peers and later between me and my teachers. I could feel the stigma surrounding what I was going through and internalized it, resulting in me hating myself for being ill. There were weeks in high school when I was both a mental inpatient and a student, leaving the hospital in the mornings for school and returning once school was over. I lived a double life in which I couldn’t focus wholly on my education or wholly on my recovery. I eventually gave up the former for the sake of the latter, and my life has been empty since then because there is nothing more disheartening than having mental illness as my only identity.

I couldn’t work due to anxiety, low self-esteem and shame. When I was 19, my family convinced me to seek help in finding a job that would respect my mental health needs, but the employment agency I turned to didn’t understand mental illness–related disabilities. I felt belittled and insulted throughout the process and left the agency feeling worse than ever.

I had worked exceptionally hard throughout high school with the goal of being accepted to one of my dream universities. Instead, I settled for applying to local schools so that if a crisis occurred, my parents would be within driving distance. I later could not even leave my hometown because I couldn’t cope without seeing my usual therapist. When I half-heartedly applied to be a part-time student at the college in my city, I found that the disability services at the school didn’t meet the needs of people with mental illness. I dropped out before the first week of classes was over.

I would love to see workers in the community learn more about mental illnesses and how to work with youth dealing with them. I feel that many people are so eager to appear non-judgmental that they completely ignore the diagnoses disclosed to them. I need the system to work with me by ensuring that service providers are open to hearing me speak about my experiences so I can educate them about my needs.

Until then I find great meaning through the youth organization mindyourmind and my blog, Daisies & Bruises, where I write about the art of living with depression.