Being A “Gen-Z” With High-Functioning Mental Illness and Tons of Responsibilities
It’s 2am and I’m sitting in the bathroom against the wall, holding onto myself. In four hours, I need to be awake for my commute to work.
Why am I in the bathroom?
An hour earlier, I was jerked awake by one of my infrequent, yet terrifying nightmares. If I am fortunate, I wake from them because my fiancée is also awakened by my twitching and moaning. Other times, I will wake up absolutely drenched in sweat, heart pounding, fingers digging into the sheets just to bring myself back to reality. This was one of those times.
My fiancée was snoring contently beside me in his own little world. I am thankful for that, but the sound is overstimulating. It takes a lot to untangle myself from the sheets because my body is in perpetual fight-or-flight mode. I am safe in this bed, but will I be safe down the hall?
Quietly, I shut the door behind me and flick on the lights, which was disorienting yet necessary. My reflection is a version of myself I hardly recognize — flushed cheeks, damp face, hair askew. I frantically try to catch my breath and it keeps getting away from me. I cough, swallow, and try again. At this moment I recognize I am on the verge of a panic attack.
Panic attacks do not happen to me very often because I have endured them since my teenage years. I built up a tolerance threshold to most “triggers” and have discovered better methods of coping during these moments. For context, I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) several years ago as a result of some very traumatic experiences in my childhood and young adulthood. Most recently I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). Placing a name to the experiences, emotions, and thoughts I had was comforting because I felt validated. I do not take medication for personal reasons but I have been in therapy for ten years to manage my behaviors and reactions.
When my body feels a panic attack coming on, it’s too late for me to calm myself. I either have a full-blown panic attack or disassociate entirely to prevent one from occurring. Sometimes both. All I can do is try to shorten the experience and make it as painless on myself as possible. It’s extremely hard to not curl up and just let the overwhelming nature of it wash over me.
I have found counting and focusing on patterns to be comforting. I pace back and forth in the bathroom just counting my steps. When I sit, I fixate on the pattern on the bathroom cabinets. Being in a small and secluded space works best for me, but for some people going through a panic attack, enclosed spaces can be the opposite of comforting. There is a tendency to wring and squeeze at my hands. The hyperventilating is inevitable and sometimes I cry, but most often it’s just sheer panic.
No matter what, it’s a lose-lose situation. If the panic attack runs its course, I am left with a throbbing headache and emotional exhaustion, plus a mental fog the next 24 hours that no amount of caffeine can shake. If I disassociate to prevent the panic attack or as a result of it, I am emotionally numb and everything feels extremely surreal for just as long.
The panic attack wins.
After 20 minutes (and a quick face wash), I saunter back to bed pretty exhausted. Sometimes I stay awake for awhile to keep the nightmares away and prevent another episode. In three hours, my alarm will go off and I’ll need to prepare for work. There’s a Graduate School call this evening between myself and my classmates. I’ll surely feel like a zombie, but it’s no role I am not accustomed to playing. I know I’m not the only one.
One thing that has changed in the last decade is the awareness brought to mental health issues. Although, in my opinion, the “awareness” is nowhere near enough, they are less stigmatized than they once were.
One thing that has remained the same is the expectation workplaces have of their employees to come to work as scheduled — unless they are unable to physically function, an emergency arises, or the person dies. Some employers have the audacity to ask for a doctor’s note for sick days, and there’s no doctor’s note for mental health.
What does that result in?
Mentally ill and exhausted individuals having no option but to smile through it. I cannot be the only one who spends the next day in a fog and a slump that isn’t even of my own doing, expected to be competent at my job, which is extremely hard to do when I am still recovering from a panic attack I had hours prior. How can we perform at one hundred percent when we are so utterly drained before the day is half over?
Returning to a normal baseline level of functioning following a panic attack is not an easy thing to do. It’s not “flipping a switch” or changing mindsets. It requires time, patience with oneself, and a comfortable environment. Sometimes, “recovery” is a meal and a nice, long nap. It takes time for the body and mind to comprehend they are not in danger and the world is not on fire. The time it takes depends on the person.
I need to also emphasize that those of us who suffer panic attacks are not the only ones who struggle to maintain a work-life balance. Each person with their own mental illness deals with different impacts rippling throughout various aspects of their lives. Depression can make doing anything a daunting task. Triggers can occur anywhere, at any time. I work closely with people at my office job and feel an immediate pang of sheer, paralyzing terror whenever I meet someone who resembles the man who sexually assaulted me years ago, but I can’t let that show.
Have you ever disassociated or had a tic from an intrusive memory or event? It’s scary to own your body, yet have so little control!
Millennials and Gen Z’ers have heard a thousand times, “everyone has a mental illness these days”, or, “everyone has something wrong with them” as a means of dismissing our circumstances. Some older adults simply do not believe in mental illnesses and others will swear by essential oils as a cure. I dated a partner whose mother was very involved in holistic healing and her solution to everything — mental and physical — was, “lavender oil on the wrists, peppermint on the forehead”, etc.
I smelled good, but I felt both angry and mentally ill at the end of the day.
Many of us had it hammered into our minds from an early age that unless absolutely unable to physically, there are few excuses to skip work or school. It’s no wonder we swallow our discomfort. In Elementary school, I recall some of my classmates raising their hands to use the bathroom because they absolutely needed to, yet being refused because it would interfere with their learning. In middle school and high school, we were threatened with failing grades if we took a single sick day without a doctor’s note. I’m not even going to mention the pressure some parents put their children under to attend school if they felt genuinely unwell, either.
Now, as grown adults molded under this conditioning, we pressure and push ourselves to the brink of utter exhaustion. The burnout hits harder because we might operate on 80% 24/7, like a smartphone with a bad battery. We allocate 70% to our obligations with only 10% left to ourselves and the other responsibilities inherently associated with being a human: cooking, cleaning, caring for children, etc. This is why so many of us have extremely disorganized living spaces sometimes!
Some of us, fortunately, have found comfort in the dark humor of our mental illnesses. My friends and I would always joke, “I’m one minor inconvenience away from ending it all,” which we never were serious about, but it was a harmless way to convey the stress we were under to make things feel less daunting and sad. There was once a period in my life when I didn’t have that outlet as a young teenager and it nearly resulted in me not being here today.
Currently, I find myself under pressure each day. I’m a full-time employee in a career field I’m enthusiastic about. I enjoy the work I do and those who I serve, but sometimes the sheer amount of work becomes overwhelming. I’m in my Master’s program and have been fortunate to gain recognition for multiple endeavors and strides I have made at such a young age, particularly as the youngest in my workplace and cohort. I juggle these responsibilities with maintaining our home and our three ferrets. Constantly weighing on my shoulders is the knowledge of my mother’s pancreatic cancer, my grandmother’s kidney failure, and my father’s absence. Times like this make me wish I could revert to the 70’s and play the role of a ditzy housewife, vacuuming and humming to Fleetwood Mac.
This brings me to another point — it’s tough being mentally ill as a female because we are so rarely taken seriously. We are accused of being “dramatic” or “emotional”. It’s also tough being mentally ill as a male, because men are supposed to be the strong and reasonable ones. Are we not allowed to each have our mental illnesses and be validated for them regardless of sex?
The ability to function under a “normal guise” can be considered as high-functioning mental illness. Most people would not recognize how mentally ill we are or how much we suffer unless they really know us. We can appear “normal” to family, colleagues, classmates, etc. We can manage our mental illness (to an extent) and filter how they impact our day-to-day operations. Unfortunately, this can take a toll over time and result in panic attacks or breakdowns when we are alone if we don’t have some other positive outlet for these emotions or thoughts. This is not to be confused with “masking”, which involves acting in non-authentic ways to hide certain emotions versus processing those emotions and directing them elsewhere.
Dealing with mental illness at any capacity is exhausting. Some ways I try and keep sane involve carving out time for myself in advance, whether it’s a 30-minute soak in lavender bath salts or going for a walk. I also dedicate certain chucks of my day to work, school, responsibilities, and self-care. If the load of responsibilities is too great, I ask my partner to help shoulder some of the burden, which he is very receptive to. This happens pretty often, because I find it impossible to take time for self-care if my surrounding environment is messy or I have schoolwork to complete.
Additionally, if I am feeling uninspired, I set an alarm for myself and dedicate one hour to cleaning. The dishes and ferret’s poop box are my priorities, as well as taking out the trash. I try to prioritize cleaning things that could stink or cause problems if not cleaned first and save everything else for another day when I can dedicate more time to thorough cleaning. This one-hour window affords me time afterwards to take care of myself and do things I enjoy, even if that means simply going to bed.
Overall, I have learned that the ability to forgive yourself is key. Budgeting and planning time are equally important, as well as sticking to it. One hour of cleaning a day can make a large difference, and it might just be healthier to chip away at the responsibilities versus overloading yourself and feeling exhausted at the end of the day. I have also found that the tendency to overload ourselves with responsibilities results in feeling “zombie-like”, where existing is not living and the day-to-day is work, school, clean, sleep with very little sustenance otherwise.
Finally — find a therapist. I am of the opinion that everyone, regardless of mental state, should have a therapist. We all deal with stress, conflict, and our own demons. Although opening up to a loved one or friend is beneficial, I have found that they can only do so much and sometimes having an un-biased perspective on things can help provide some clarity and insight on problems. Whether you are seeking to vent or solve a problem, they can be a great asset. There are free mental health resources available without insurance, as well as telemedicine for anyone reluctant to visit an office. The whole stigma surrounding therapy for, “damaged individuals” can only be broken if we cohesively work to normalize it and have open dialogue on mental health.
