I remember returning to work, after months of experiencing low points in my battle with schizoaffective disorder, and being asked, "You aren't going to come into work and shoot us, right?" One of the difficulties faced with having any mental disorder is that when it is out to the public, the questions are incredibly ignorant. I can't begin to tell you how many times someone has come up to me, or even others with mental illness, asking questions that pertain to killing someone else. The sad truth is, that in a time when Columbine, Aurora or even Sandy Hook has taken the media by storm, the information others have about mental illness come straight from the headlines. Teenager Shoots Up School. Said to Have Serious Mental Illness. We have all seen it, but that doesn't scratch the surface on mental illness. Most of the time, it doesn't involve homicide. Most of the time, it isn't in the headlines; it is suffered in silence. Why? Because once people know, their ways of facing it can be harsh.

I was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder in my early 20s. Schizoaffective disorder is an imbalance in the brain that not only causes mood disorders such as depression or even mania but is also paired with thought disorders that is common with those suffering from schizophrenia. Growing up, I began to gather that something was wrong. During my formative years, I was carefully inspecting food that my mom gave me to assure she wasn't poisoning me. In my teenage years, I was getting increasingly paranoid. I thought people were watching me. I would comprise conspiracies and conclude that friends were plotting to make me fail. If they were to accomplish something positive, I thought it was only to see me be upset.

Diseases were even a part of it, and not me contracting any. No, I just thought I had serious diseases and would lock myself in my room for days without getting out. It was an uphill battle, and it wasn't getting better. I was back and forth in seeking help from doctors attempting to combat this beast, and the responses from friends and family were less than stellar. Some would say things like:

"You're just upset because things didn't go your way."

"You have nothing wrong with you. You just need to get more active."

"I bet you're faking it for attention."

"I was able to stop being sad on my own. You should be able to do the same."

These comments are complete fallacies. No one can just stop mental illness and magically become better again. It doesn't work like that. When something is wrong, it is obvious. It should have been obvious to those around me that staying in my room for days staring at the wall was out of my control. It should have been obvious when I was talking about my demise. I wouldn't eat. I wouldn't sleep. I would become careless with my life. I wouldn't shower. I wouldn't shave my face. I would sample a multitude of drugs hoping I could self-medicate and not take five prescribed medications a day. I'd chain-smoke so Death could greet me that much sooner. I'd even make more serious attempts to end my life. How could I care about my own well-being when thoughts of death and decay would not leave my head? How could I care about others when I couldn't even care about myself?

It's this turmoil that those suffering from mental illness have. Most of those with mental illness don't know where to turn or how to ask questions because outside parties can't understand, and they truly believe it is a myth. Even those that do understand the spectrum of psychiatric issues stop to understand once a loved one starts to do something they do not like. For that reason alone, I am in this constant battle between who I want to be and who society allows me to be. I can't be sad, or angry. Instead, I need to "Get stronger meds." I can't be overly happy. Instead, I am "Disruptive" and I must "Up the dose on my anti-psychotics." I can't be human and have human emotions because the label of my diagnosis defines who I am to others.

This is what those with mental illness suffer. Most don't go into a school and cause a massacre. Those that suffer are in their rooms, hiding from the outside world. Those that suffer are thinking of many ways to harm themselves. Perhaps they take street drugs to prevent themselves from taking a handful of prescribed medication per day. They may even attempt suicide, because to them, above all else, that is the best way to end their disease. It doesn't have to be that way if those that suffer open up, and those that are on the outside listen. Together, as a community, we can save lives. All we have to do is talk about it, and understand one another.