Sexism and Mental Health

There really is a huge difference between how men and women are perceived in society, when it comes to mental health. It gets me so angry. Why are we treated differently? If a man has a bad day, he must be overworked and so stressed, but if a woman has a bad day, she just can’t handle the pressure.

If a man announces that he gets overwhelmed by loud noises, be it violent arguments, neighbours having a huge, loud party or fireworks going off at New Year, he is given sympathy and told that he is brave for talking about this and letting people know. People respect the guts that it took to admit that he is struggling. If a woman speaks of the same thing, she is told to grow up, stop being so childish and to get her act together. People console the male, but say to the female that she makes them uncomfortable, because she’s acting like a baby.

If a man is suicidal, people sympathise with his struggles. They assume that he must have been going through a lot, and people wish they could have done more for him. If a woman is suicidal, people assume she is weak and pathetic and can’t cope with life. No one wants to be there for her, nor do they think they should help her, because she is being childish.

These are just my experiences, but it gets me so angry. I have known the same individual react to me and a male (who are both on the autism spectrum and suffer with depression) in two polar opposite ways. It isn’t fair. If I was a man, you would be by my side, helping and supporting me, but because I’m a woman, you told me to, “F*** off.”

 

I saw a therapist, back in March 2019, and he told me that he thinks a lot of me getting upset will go away (minus being overwhelmed by loud noises, from my Asperger’s) once I find someone who is willing to take a chance on me, and let me live with them, and it just be me and them. No family or friends living with us. No lodgers or housemates. He said, I should probably cut out, maybe not completely, but significantly limit my contact with my family for the first four to six months, and by then, I should notice a significant difference and almost all of the bad things are likely to go away. He said any other arrangement would hinder my mental health, not help it. He also said that it needed to happen sooner, rather than later, because my emotions don’t work the same as the average person’s and if I’m surrounded by too much negativity, my brain could forget how to produce the hormone that creates positivity and once it is gone, even medication can’t bring it back. This therapist said that my emotional instability is completely circumstantial and solely derives from my home life. He told me the only way to fix it. There’s just one problem. That was four years ago. I’m getting too old. Some days, I can’t feel positive emotions, no matter how hard I focus and set my mind to it. I still can feel them, but if I don’t find someone soon, who is willing to take a chance on me, it will be too late for me to even try at all. Then everyone will just say that I’m too weak and pathetic, because I’m female, but I was never given a chance to help myself.

- Josie -

Do You Only Fall in Love Once?

This blog post is, I guess, kind of a therapy writing session. The doctor said that I can still walk on my knee, so today, I did a ten mile walk, when I finished work, and allowed my mind to wander.

This last week, my heartrate has bee really high, my neighbours have been hell and my autism hasn’t managed to cope with the stress. When my autism gets so overwhelmed that I can’t move, my brain always goes to one person, an ex; the only person I have ever truly been in love with. We broke up over three years ago, but whenever I get into an overwhelmed state, he is the one my brain thinks of, when I have no control over my thoughts.

Over the subsequent years, I have dated. While I was still recovering from Bronchitis Pneumonia/first person in the UK to have Covid/miscarriage, a little over a month after my breakup, I followed the advice from my colleagues and started dating again. I started talking, online, with an old uni friend. We had worked together in the past, but hadn’t seen each other in a couple of years. We had things in common, we got along really well, he invented some word association games to help occupy my mind and avert my thoughts from wallowing in darkness for too long. We got along really well. I enjoyed the attention, from someone who made me feel happy and good about myself, who wanted to talk to me and made the effort to text me, call me, see me and who encouraged me and told me that I could do things. It was a pleasant surprise from what I was used to – having someone who didn’t want to spend more than an hour once every six to eight weeks together, who told me that I wouldn’t cope doing things, despite never letting me try, who would always assume, over text, that I was being negative when 99% of the time I was being nice and kind and helpful towards him, who would always assume I was wrong when I was trying to help him and disregard my efforts to help, and who would ignore me and make a point of talking to random strangers online, instead of me, making me feel like the most worthless person in the world, resulting in my friend telling me that the only way I could ever get his attention was to pretend to be a stranger online in order to receive any form of communication from him.

This man was different. He wanted to see me and sped time together. He wanted to make things together and do things together, and these weren’t just empty promises, like I was used to. We were working on poems together, comedy sketches, screen plays. There was just one problem: I didn’t feel a thing towards him. Yes, he was a good friend and a really good boyfriend. I am the type of person who can force themselves/train their brain into liking a person/enjoying someone’s company. I envisioned marrying this man, who I felt nothing for and pretending my whole life that everything was okay.

I never really openly discussed my concerns with anyone, but when I asked about love, people would just say that you’re just supposed to find someone that you can somewhat put up with for the rest of your life and that they feeling of love, true love, many people never feel or experience, it’s just a fantasy notion, best saved for books and films.

So what was I to do? Do I stay in a relationship with someone that I do not love, whilst thinking of someone that I do? At least I had someone, right?

Then my manager, who was in charge of of the west of the UK, became ill, and the east of the UK manager was I charge of all of us. This was lockdown, so he never came to the office in person, but we spoke on the phone everyday. He spoke with such a kind and caring voice and he even spoke to me in the same tone of voice that my ex, that I was still in love with, did. He knew of my recent breakup – everyone did. I barely made it through a day without a 5 (often longer) minute toilet break to have a good cry, despite being with someone new. He understood me too, having suffered a break up six months earlier than me, the week before his wedding day. I looked forward to our chats, to him phoning to check in on my day I the office, alone, more than anything. Sometimes we even arrange lunchtime phone calls, because I would check in on him and no one else did, they just expected him to carry the business on his shoulders and move house, to be more central to the head office, all at the same time.

I looked forward to talking to this manager more than I did the guy I was dating. I know, in part, it was because he reminded me of the one I fell in love with. I know he wasn’t him. He didn’t have the same hobbies or interests, but still, we fantasised about running away together to Scotland, to get away from the stresses of work, to go on lots of long walks and hikes together (he studied sports science at uni, of course we were going to go on lots of hikes, luckily I love going on log walks), to take photographs of the beautiful country side, and as Scotland is known for its whisky, he wanted to try one in every town and village that we visited. It may have only been a daydream, but it kept us going and we both looked forward to our daily phone call.

I broke up with the guy I was dating. To me, it didn’t feel right. I was still in love with my ex, the nice side of him, not the mentally abusive monster that he became. I know he wasn’t the same person anymore, but that was who I had been in love with. The guy I was dating, while he was, on paper, a good boyfriend, I didn’t love him, not even a little. I could trick myself and convince myself, over and over, into thinking that everything was fine, my friends and family all liked him, but something just didn’t feel right. Something felt like it was missing, and it was. Love was missing; the magical, special little spark that is completely different to just feeling happy and calm and content. It’s different than just being pleased, because your family and friends are proud of you for finding someone that they approve of and like. Yes, everyone in my life approved and accepted him, but to me, it didn’t feel right. I didn’t want to drag things on any longer, so I broke up with him.

Things, at work, changed through lockdown and before I knew it, the manager who reminded me of the person I once loved, was moved to a different department and our phone calls stopped. Soon after, he started dating an Instagram model that he met at the park, whilst walking his dog.

Months went by. I never spoke to the one I once loved, or the guy that I dated. And soon the manager that reminded me of my old love left the company too. Shortly after, I started seeing a lady who was new to our office. She was nice and fun to be around and I was grateful for her company and it did hurt when she said that she didn’t want a relationship, because she was leaving for a triple threat scholarship soon, but I still didn’t feel anything more than just good friends when I was with her.

 

A few more months past by and I got a new job. I didn’t want to even think about dating, while I got my head around the new company, new job role and new responsibilities. Towards the end of last year, the was a guy in a local shop that I would pop into and every time he served me, we would flirt a little. It had been about eighteen months since I had thought of anyone in a potential relationship way. My colleague tried to set us up, but again, I liked the attention and how being in a relationship felt, but I wasn’t in love with them.

 

Just before Christmas, I returned back to dating apps, that I had looked through occasionally, but decided that I was really going to give it a go. Maybe I am just too old and wasted my twenties with a guy who never wanted to marry me and now it’s too late. I turn 32 in a couple of months and the only people that were in a close age bracket, were just after a one night stand or a bit of fun.

So it all got me thinking, do you only ever fall in love once? And I mean really fall in love. I’ve read and been told that some people never even feel the emotion of real love. Sometimes people do, after they are married, with children and realise that what they thought was love when they met their partner, is just a good friendship, but they didn’t know any different, because they thought that that was what love was. And if you only fall in love once, what happens if the person you are in love with doesn’t love you back? They will move on and find the one person that they are I love with, but are you supposed to just settle for some random person that you somewhat get along with and can somewhat cope living with and be with them, because that’s what society wants and expects?

I don’t want to be with someone for the sake of being with someone. If that is what the majority of the population has then I don’t want it. I don’t want to be with someone because I think I have to, because that is what my family and friends expect from me and want from me. I don’t want to be with someone and need to remind myself periodically that I am doing the right thing and that I’m supposed to be happy. I can’t stand people that do that. I don’t understand how or why anyone would choose to do that to themselves or their significant other. Why would most people prefer to be in a fake relationship and convince themselves that they are happy, while their family/friends are proud of them, tell themselves that this is what they want, rather than be alone and be honest with themselves.

Maybe people only do fall in love once. Maybe there really is only one person out there for everyone. I found the one person that I fell in love with, but just because they are the one for you, it doesn’t mean that you are the one for them. I do feel lucky, to be someone who does know what love feels like. I’ve experienced it. It’s the most special, magical feeling in the entire world that no words can truly describe. But it also feels like a curse, because now I will never be truly content with just an average relationship, one with no real feeling, no real meaning.

 

- Josie -