Jeeze, I will probably regret ever going here and jumping into this thread. It covers a lot of territory already, some of it far from the OP's original question. But, it's all highly relevant to me, it's what I am really struggling with the concept of stigma right now. To the point that I really want to take my toys and go home, leave the game, so to speak, permanently. Because I feel doomed because I had a breakdown and ended up in a psych day program. And I went to extreme lengths to cover that fact up. Trying to cover up such a significant thing as spending three weeks in a psych day program is a herculean task, and unfortunately, it takes a level of perfection to be successful that is frankly impossible for a mere mortal. Yet, I tried, and still try, because I fear that being "found out" will be my death sentence. Or, more accurately, my execution, the signing of the death warrant, because the death sentence came the day I was sent to the program in the first place.

Why do I feel this way -- because I think this society is cold, harsh, judgmental, discriminatory, hateful, and contemptuous of people with mental health issues. And, we are one of the last groups that it is still fully acceptable to bash, to mock, to ridicule openly in public, and no one stands up to up, people just laugh and agree or look serious and agree that "it's a problem".

So, a good question is, why did I feel I needed to cover up the fact I had a nervous breakdown and ended up in a psych day program? Well, this was my thought process: If people find out I am being treated for a psychiatric problem serious enough to be in a day hospital program, they will think less of me, and treat me differently. My boss will fire me. I won't ever be able to find a job in my career field again. My family will reject me, they will view me as a weak man, a failure, and chalk it up as the ultimate failure in a life they already viewed as not measuring up to their standards. The cost of all of that, being unemployed, unemployable, will eat me up financially, and I will run out of money. I will end up homeless, on the streets, and die a miserable death. There will be absolutely no help of any kind for me, because in this country, it's virtually impossible to get anyway, and takes so long to qualify for that all of this will play out before I could ever possibly get SSI/SSDI.

Because, you know, that was my image of what happened to people with a serious mental illness. Abandoned, left to die on the street like dogs. And, well, I know that isn't the rule, but it does happen. And I really feared that. So, I chose to try to completely hide what I was going through. Good luck with that, one little slip up is all it takes for people to start questioning, and once they begin, they tend to not want to take no for an answer, and not want to back down and just be content to let things be. No, they pry into others' business as if it were a right of them to do so.

So, I feel doomed. And trapped. And at this time, I am really sorry I ever chose to make that call to see a psychiatrist. How this plays out in the end, I'm not really sure. All I can say is that the pressure of this situation feels unbearable at times.