Bipolar 2 From Inside and Out

Is My Pain as Real as Yours?

The other day I got a comment on a post I wrote a while back called “Who’s a Spoonie?” (https://wp.me/p4e9Hv-h6).

The commenter said that I was wrong to use the term “Spoonie” for those with mental illnesses. The kinds of disorders that merited the appellation “Spoonie” were only those that involved a “physical debilitating condition where pain and fatigue play major roles.” That I am not a Spoonie. That the language is not mine to use. That I am a part of the problem.

Let’s take a closer look at some of those assumptions.

Mental illness is not an invisible illness.

I wrote about that, in a post called “Is Bipolar Disorder an ‘Invisible Illness’?” (https://wp.me/p4e9Hv-gI). Disabled World (https://www.disabled-world.com/disability/types/invisible/) seems to think it is. Their definition specifically includes mental disorders:

These [mental] diseases can also be completely debilitating to the victim, and can make performing everyday tasks extremely difficult, if not impossible.

Bipolar disorder and depression are included in their partial list of “invisible illnesses.” And if you want to talk about “everyday tasks,” consider the number of bipolar and other sufferers who can’t get out of bed, can’t shower, can’t leave their homes, can’t work.

The condition must be physical.

To the best of our current knowledge, bipolar disorder and many other mental illnesses spring from glitches in the neurotransmitters in our brains. The brain, a physical organ. Neurotransmitters, a physical substance.

Pain and fatigue are required to play major roles.

Well, I’ve written about that too, in a post called “Depression Hurts” (https://wp.me/p4e9Hv-6Z).

My head and eyes hurt from all the crying spells. My back hurt from lying in bed all day. I had painful knotted muscles from the anxiety that went with the depression. I had intestinal cramps because my overactive nerves led to irritable bowel syndrome. I had headaches and eye strain from the over sensitivity to light and noise. And I had the general flu-like malaise that is practically the hallmark of depression. You know the one. Every bone and muscle aches, but you can’t think why.

Were these aches and pains psychogenic? Undoubtedly some of them were. But others, like the irritable bowel, were all too demonstrably physical phenomena.

Oh, and are they chronic? I’ve lived with them all for years. Not all at the same time, maybe, and not without times when the pain let up. But are all Spoonies required to be in constant pain and fatigue? Again, Disabled World says not.

The language is not mine to use. 

Sorry, but language doesn’t work that way. Once a word is released into the wild, it goes where it wills, acquiring new usages and new meaning. And “Spoonie” is certainly out in the wild. The essay that first defined it is all over the Internet. The suffix -holic has escaped from the word “alcoholic” and is now used for dissimilar ideas including “shopaholic” and “chocoholic.” Can we say, “No, you mustn’t do that. It must be reserved for alcohol addiction”? We might, but it’s not going to happen. Trust me on this. I have some training in linguistics.

I am part of the problem.

I suppose so, if you believe there’s actually a problem. In my post on Spoonies, I asked:

Isn’t that how Spoon language started – as a way to begin a conversation on what invisible illnesses are and how they affect our lives? Not a secret language that only those who know the password and handshake can use.

Obviously, opinions on the subject will vary, and mine is only one among many. I cordially dislike exclusionary language. Does anyone else want to weigh in?

Comments on: "Is My Pain as Real as Yours?" (2)

  1. Since I first heard “spoonie”, I’ve always assumed that any painful invisible illness qualified the term, so of course, mental illness were included. This person sounds like something out of r/gatekeeping on Reddit to me.

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  2. I have used spoon theory metaphors for as long as I’ve known about it as a way to explain my level of capacity for functioning. I see the spoon theory as an illustration of invisible struggles in general. Even if the author used her own specific example, if it helps anyone to express invisible barriers that’s great. Plus, to be honest, bipolar and the like can cause physiological effects (for me, it’s jaw pain from clenching my face all day, exposed abscessed nerve roots in teeth from years of not brushing for weeks at a time during depression, extreme nausea or diarrhea from not eating, eating too much, or panic, stumbling into the ER gasping and clutching my chest convinced I must be dying, adrenaline sickness from panic, etc) PLUS being at war with our minds 24/7. I read an article way back titled “Where’s My Casserole??” about mental illness being the most invisible of the invisible illnesses, and how when we can’t function no one brings dinner or starts a group casserole schedule. I’ve actually broken down crying more than once bc I just want someone to bring me a casserole. Point being, though, that we only have so many spoons too, and have to be mindful of what we can and can’t handle in order to keep ourselves from further harm.

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