"Lack of insight into own illness" is a common symptom of schizophrenia.
I had it myself (when I was most ill). I didn't think I was ill, nor that I belonged in the psychiatric ward - which I told the nurses repeatedly! This was before I started taking my medicine and gradually became aware of all the nasty voices shouting and screaming at me in my head. (There was also an element of me feeling like "
I want to get back to my life - now!", but that's another story!)
In this post, I will try to word my thoughts about a lack of insight
in general - not 'just' lack of insight into one's own illness.
Insight ... is something I've struggled with for a long time. I've had many 'aha moments' during my recovery process. For example, it's liberating to realise that many of your barriers are 'all in your own head'. (It's an ongoing process, however, and everyone's recovery looks different!)
I had an aha moment recently while thinking about my difficulties with communication, loneliness and why I'd had such a hard time at school.
What was I doing to provoke the bullying and exclusion? Why was 'no-one else' so badly affected?
I never found the answers. I simply couldn't understand it. Making someone else feel bad has never been something I've made a conscious effort to do - so, the whole concept was a mystery to me. What made the bullies do it? Why couldn't they just leave me alone? What did they get from it? How did it benefit them? I had so many questions and, in my desperation, I became more withdrawn (in an attempt to avoid further pain) and took my frustrations out on my loved ones, which didn't help my situation, either.
However, thanks to many years of distance from the situation and a good measure of maturity, I've become much more 'resolved' about everything that happened. Things are better now. Which is why I'm more able to tell my story and explain schizophrenia's impact on insight, communication, initiative and socialising.
In earlier posts (on my first blog) about bullying, I wrote about how I viewed 'the others' (my peers) as 'stronger' than me, socially. Therefore, I also believed that it was mostly up to THEM to get to know ME. Me, clearly shy and inhibited - they, who could talk without problems - it was obvious, right?! Of COURSE they could - and should - take initiative, seeing as it was so much easier for them.
This would also make it easier for me, as I find it extremely difficult to take initiative, but am fine with 'just' answering questions.
However, I couldn't expect my peers to know this.
I'd been told that people had thought I was a 'snob' because I didn't say anything.
Whether or not I say something has everything to do with how comfortable I feel. If you're clearly showing interest, then I'm more comfortable than if I have to initiate contact myself - with the latter, I feel completely 'out of my depth'. For a long time, however, I had thought I was 'doing okay' on that front - with regard to how much I participate in conversation and social situations in general. But, on closer inspection, it's become clear to me that I probably haven't always been functioning as 'normally' as I thought.
I understand now why I was labelled 'the quiet girl'.
Because I don't say anything.
I think a whole lot, but it never 'comes out'.
Not before now - not before I started blogging.
It's been a hard pill to swallow (sorry for the pun) - that the image I had of myself as a confident, 'normal' girl didn't match the image others had of me. It was a blow to my self-confidence. I felt embarrassed, stupid and 'exposed' - as if everybody else knew something about me that I'd previously thought was 'opaque'. Like being in one of those nightmares where you're suddenly stark naked in front of others. It didn't feel nice - and I was scared. Didn't know how to handle it. So I withdrew even further into myself - perhaps in an attempt to preserve the last little piece of me that wasn't accessible to others.
So, all in all, I didn't open up to others. This was fine in the years before I went to high school, because it was a way to protect myself - from the bullying. But, when I started high school and met a whole bunch of nice people who actually wanted to get to know me, I had no idea how to deal with it! I was still the shy, inhibited girl who hadn't had any social practise and continued to isolate myself from others. If only I'd had the necessary social skills ... then maybe I'd have approached that nice guy who kept smiling at me at a high school party - and not 'just' smiled back and walked past. Maybe I'd have said the funny comment I thought of during a lesson and made the others laugh - instead of keeping it to myself. Maybe I'd have picked up on all the signals I now can see (in hindsight) were friendly interest in me, but that I wasn't able to 'act upon' back then.
You can tell I've thought about it, right? You keep thinking about these things many years afterwards. What if, what if, what if ...?
Imagine if I hadn't had my illness. Well, then I'd probably have been a fairly outgoing, social person. I believe so. Because I like being social. I'd never have been the 'party animal', but I'd have been more proactive and extrovert.
I remember when I was first in hospital and practically begged the nurses to let me go to the open unit, where the other patients were. However, three months would pass before I was robust enough to be around others, and even then it was an extremely slow and gradual prodecure - baby steps.
I also remember seeing a doctor at the ward (I'll call her 'V'). She was really nice and understanding. And patient. I asked her in frustration again and again - every time I had a meeting with her - "Why don't the others talk to me?" She couldn't give me a satisfactory answer. After all, how was she supposed to respond? Now, I can see that my problem most likely stemmed from the fact
I didn't do much to talk to
them - but, back then, I would be seething inside; feeling like 'I deserved more'.
It's incredibly easy to fall into the 'they should do more for me' trap. So easy to expect too much from others and become 'lazy'. I think this is where schizophrenia plays a part in regard to insight; everything the illness does to you - voices in your head, ambivalence, low motivation, cognitive deficits, not to mention difficulties with communication! - well, of course you're going to be withdrawn and live 'in your own head'. So much that you cannot see how you come across to others.
That's what it was like for me, at least.
Sometimes I think that, perhaps, communication and socialising isn't 'worth it', in the end. Don't get me wrong - I will continue doing my best to become better at wording my thoughts and share them with others (verbally, too). But being social in the 'normal' way, like other young people, requires a heck of a lot of energy - energy I don't have. Therefore, I guess I've reached a point where I'm ditching a lot of the ideas I've had about my 'social identity'. For instance, I almost always say no (with a thank you, of course!) to invitations to birthdays, house-warming parties and other events where I don't know many people coming. I'd much rather celebrate my friends quietly at a later time where we can meet one-on-one. I'm incredibly lucky to have fantastic friends who always invite me (and it's important to be offered an invitation) but who completely understand that I will generally say no, while expressing gratitude for being included.
It's been difficult to reach the conclusion that I can't do as much as other young people, especially when I'd like to join in - but here I am, and I'm not more ill because of it!
So, yeah. Insight, huh? A strange thing.
I hope you feel a little more enlightened about my experiences - and that I can help others with my words. Others who might be thinking about the same things, but haven't found the words to express them. Heck, I know I could have used something like this when I was struggling the most.