I don’t have a mental illness, but recently I’ve developed something I like to think of as “mental hypochondria,” though that’s not the most accurate term. See, hypochondria (Somatic Symptom Disorder, as it is now called) is a diagnosable illness that has serious effects; what I have is simply called “being an idiot” and stems from my self-deprecatory nature.

I’ve taken a few psychology courses in my learning career and I’ve read my fair share of articles about mental illness, but without diving very deep into these disorders, their vague definitions and generalized symptoms sound like they could be my weekly journal entries. Reading about OCD and bipolar disorder is like WebMD for my brain.

It doesn’t help to have a close friend who is getting a psychology degree and is learning all sorts of new information about abnormal psychology. I had one such friend, who told me there are different degrees of OCD and it can manifest in various ways, so naturally all my little quirks became symptoms of a minor compulsive disorder.

But that’s really all they are: quirks. Boy, do I have some doozies, though: I have this certain way of brushing my teeth, or rather spitting, in which I spit different ways in a specific order, changing amounts of water and method with each; whenever I use water to take a pill, I rinse the cup three times quickly, then pause briefly before filling it; if I don’t hear the tink sound of the stopper on the bathtub faucet, I have to put it down again. Weird, I know.

For another example, I used to think I had a mild form of ADD, because I got (and still get) distracted incredibly easily. I even tried to get my mother to have me tested. She was smart enough to realize I was just looking for an excuse to not do my homework. This is still true.

Well, in recent months, the internet has been heaping with personal stories and informative articles about mental illnesses and dealing with their symptoms. I’m here to say I understand why some of us like to joke about disorders or self-diagnose, but to people who struggle with them every day, mental illness is not a joke, not an excuse.

So, I’ve come to terms with my problem. I don’t have OCD; I’m just weird. I’m not depressed, just sad a lot. I’m not bipolar; I just have only two emotions (three, if you count “hungry”). I don’t have ADD, just little motivation, and the thoughts in my head are much more interesting than anything else. I don’t have social anxiety; I just avoid interaction, so I don’t know how interpersonal relations are supposed to work, thus I’m embarrassed and avoid interaction (a vicious cycle).

I used to wish—stupidly—that I had some sort of problem, depression or anxiety, something that I could claim and overcome and be proud of, especially when so many others around me were powering through their own ailments. I even took an Asperger’s quiz online that told me I should be tested.

The only result of these thoughts, however, is a really terrible feeling. I went through life with a sort of wounded puppy mentality, always reasoning with the thought of some non-existent disorder in the back of my mind.

But that’s no way to live.

Life sucks sometimes. I’ve accepted that. I don’t have to deal with a mental illness, but I respect those who do. So here’s to the good fight. Have a nice day.