I was diagnosed about a quarter century ago as a young adult, the diagnosing doctor believes it started around puberty. I have been on probably about 20 medications, many were dismal failures. The ones that worked have caused side effects ranging from significant weight gain to hair loss to permanent memory loss to messed up heart electrical rhythms to toxicity hallucinations. I recently had to skip a single dose because of air travel and puked my guts up for 48 hours after. I've got so many scars from cutting that every time I count I get a different number, but it's somewhere around 40-50, and my suicide attempt was so close to successful I was in the hospital around three days.
I have earned the right to openly call myself crazy and laugh at my own brain dysfunction. I have earned the right to tell the truth about my scars when asked, not a socially polite lie. I have earned the right to laugh, because the alternative is to cry. I have earned the right to talk about it so people know what's going on when the demon in my head breaks out of his box and takes over and goes hog wild. And that is what the opening post said, make jokes about the symptoms in order to feel calmer and in control.
And people can deal with it. I gotta hear their personal stuff. They can hear me be genuine about myself, they can be prepared if they are first responder to my brain getting sick.