Despite professional recommendation, I put off applying for the disability pension for as long as possible. I am chronically mentally ill. I am unable to work as a result and therefore am lacking in the financial department. After months of contemplation and eking out my dwindling resources, I decided to swallow my pride and admit I needed some extra help. So, out of necessity, I applied for the disability pension.
My application was approved. In Australia, this is no small feat. Getting a disability pension is terribly difficult. The application process is invasive, arduous, and extensive; a journey which consists of thorough questioning, in order to basically prove yourself “sick enough” to the authorities.
Despite my already feeling fraudulent, due to the self-disparaging nature of my illness, I persevered with the application process and eventually was granted the disability pension. A concoction of polarising emotions erupted when I read my approval notice. Relief, validation, triumph, hope, gratefulness, surprise. But trumping all those reactions was this debilitating sense of complete and utter regret.
My thoughts spiraled.
“How dare I assume I deserve this?”
“Am I really chronically ill, or am I just not trying hard enough?”
“Will people think me weak?”
And worst of all:
“I have tricked the system and am stealing from those who really need this pension.”
“I am a swindling, selfish fraud.”
Despite the validation access that these benefits should have given me, I felt ashamed; like a thief, a fraud.
However, I knew I shouldn’t feel as such logically, therefore I had to delve further.
I had to challenge this thinking.
I had gone through the harrowing process of getting my application for payments accepted. This included months of incessant and provoking questioning. Constantly “proving” myself through honesty, to a point I wasn’t exactly comfortable with. I could imagine this is the same for any other who applies for a disability pension, a difference being, where many fail, I was accepted. Hundreds of deserving people are denied this assistance. Isn’t this acceptance proof enough that I did have a legitimate disability and that I did need help? I mean, the government was recognizing me as suffering enough to receive aid.
How was my illness not as debilitating as any other? Other than the usual disordered trope of “you’re unworthy”, why did I, fundamentally, deserve this help less than someone else with a chronic illness?
I mean my life is unlivable. I am in and out of the hospital, unable to work or see friends. I even lost my partner partly as a result of a recent relapse.
When I was younger I had to eat with my father at lunch and recess in the car at school for 3 years, preventing him from being able to work, so he could make sure I was safe. I missed at least 6 months of schooling due to hospitalizations, admittedly both for physical side effects of my illness, but also mental. I was put under a treatment order in the public system because I was so unwell and putting myself in danger. I couldn’t and still can’t function in day to day life. I have received recognition for this too; from peers, teachers, family, professionals, and now even from the government.
I would never say to another who has a disability (or another with my mental disorder) that they didn’t deserve the help they got. Never. If they receive payments or not, I would never discount their suffering or say that they were a fraud. If I wouldn’t say these things to others in similar circumstances, I shouldn’t be saying them to myself.
Another reason I had this enduring sense of shame may have been because some people’s reaction to my mentioning that I applied was also discouraging. Such as, “What if this perpetuates your illness because now you don’t have to recover to work and get money?”
I am lucky enough to have an illness that people recover from. My loved ones were therefore understandably worried this would make me ‘too comfortable’ in the stage I am at now in my recovery and in turn cease to desire to fully rid of my illness. This is something I was afraid of too. I decided to externalize this fear, talk it through with professionals, weigh up the necessity of my receiving funding and leave it up to the approval of the pension to tell me whether or not this assistance was appropriate for me.
I got the payments approved and therefore, as far as I’m concerned, I need them. I need this aid. This help is to assist me to reintegrate into society and function like the average citizen. It won’t stop me from recovering, in fact, it will aid my ability to recover in that now I am more able to focus on my health rather than on how I am to afford basic amenities. Other’s worries about its hindering nature are therefore irrelevant and damaging and I shouldn’t let my negative thoughts use their anxiety as a reason to berate myself for asking for extra help.
It’s time I yield. I need to stop giving my mental disorder the power this shame equips it with. This reaction isn’t helping me, the only entity it is helping and perpetuating is my mental illness. I must question this self-disparaging instinct and look at the facts in order to one day get myself well enough where maybe I won’t need this extra help! I also need to acknowledge the validity in my feeling this way as 1. A predictable spiel my illness is going to whip out to hinder my recovery and 2. A human feeling any disabled person may expect to feel when perceiving themselves as burdensome on the wider population.
I do deserve this assistance as much as any other disabled person. I suffer. Yes, I don’t suffer like everyone else. But, everybody suffers and everybody suffers differently. And that’s okay. I’m grateful for the help I can receive for my illness in the country I live in and how this help will aid me in my recovery. I would never tell another with my illness that they are undeserving of their fundamental right to help so I will stop telling myself this too.
I am mentally ill and it renders my life unlivable. I am disabled in that I cannot function like the average person. I need help, I ask for it and I receive it. That doesn’t make me less of a person. I am okay with the way I am at every stage and I will continue to fight for improvement in my health. This pension will not hinder my motivation to get better, it merely does what it’s supposed to do, allow someone less able to function more easily within the community.
I receive the disability pension and shame was my first reaction, I am determined to ensure that hope, empowerment, and recovery will be my last.
