It took me a long time to be comfortable with what happened. Most of that was internal, the embarrassment of being the guy who had public mental health issues and spent a long time in therapy, and trying to build a new life. Part of it was also watching people be uncomfortable in my presence. I didn’t have a choice about who knew about it, and I learned to embrace it as part of my story. That didn’t happen immediately.
Can you imagine the double blow it must be to have your spouse struggling with addiction or severe mental illness, and know that your friends are likely avoiding you as well? Is there stigma directed at you for being married to someone with mental health issues?
Why would a kid growing up in poverty, without enough food, and without the social support to succeed in school, feel any different about themselves as they enter adulthood? There’s a connection there; good mental health is hard to find when the entire world tells you you’re less-than.
Maybe we should stop viewing anyone as less-than and fight to make sure no kids go without.
We talk about loneliness as a mental health issue often. We complain about the lack of third spaces in society. We complain about how people don’t reach out anymore. What we likely don’t talk enough about is how volunteering to help other people is an antidote to all of that.
At any point in that journey, through all the ups and downs, not having support and access to a resource may have meant the difference between my healing and my not being here to type these words.
I think about that a lot, too. I think about how many unknown people have been lost who didn’t have that one connection or access to that one resource that could have helped them keep going. It’s a haunting thought. It’s a thought that motivates me to keep speaking and expect better from our society.
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