Anxious, but not Ashamed

I’ve been undergoing treatment for my panic disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, and depressive symptoms for a few months now. It’s not my first time in treatment. I have had serious difficulty talking about my mental health problems from the time symptoms started showing. I imagine most people in my situation can relate. Over Thanksgiving my mother began probing me about my mental health. I was surprised to find myself prattling off to my mom the progress I’ve made, the symptoms I was still experiencing, the stress in my life, and the nuances of increasing my medication. I was speaking openly and uninhibitedly to her. At some point in the conversation I related my struggles to the struggles of a friend of mine who also suffers from depression and anxiety. My mother was surprised to hear of their mental health problems. I wanted her to know how prevalent depression and anxiety are in the world, so I listed off the litany of my friends and the mental illnesses they live with. It was a long list. My mom was clearly unsettled by the long list of names, many of whom she’d met and thought to be perfectly happy. She remarked something along the lines of, “It must be your generation.” I was quick to defend my millennial sisters and brothers, asserting that these increases weren’t solely our fault –we’re just the first generation where talking about mental illness isn’t considered taboo. Despite my justification her dismissive comment stuck with me. Nearly every one of my closest friends has had a serious brush with depression, anxiety, or something worse. I’m very close with several people who have attempted suicide. My exposure to mental health problems can’t possibly be the norm, can it?

More than 39,000 people die by suicide each year, making it the 10th leading cause of death in the United States. In 2014, American veterans died by suicide at an average rate of 20 per day. Somewhere between 30-40% of lesbian, gay, and bisexual youth attempt suicide. Rates of suicide in the trans community are hypothesized to be much higher. Over one million suicide attempts are made in America each year. The overwhelming prevalence of suicidal ideation is no surprise when statistics on mental illness are considered. For instance, in 2005, the CDC found that over a quarter of Americans struggle with depression, while the National Institute of Mental Health found that within a given year, 18% of Americans have some form of anxiety disorder. Those estimates are frighteningly high, and inaccurately low. The stigma that accompanies mental health issues preventing many people from seeking treatment. That, in conjunction with low self-reported numbers from people not in treatment, makes it impossible to ascertain the actual number of people fighting depression and anxiety. Various organizations have attempted to estimate the real number of people struggling with mental health issues and the estimates are staggering; the CDC “estimated that only about 17% of U.S adults are considered to be in a state of optimal mental health."*

It isn’t just millennials who experience depression, anxiety, and suicidal ideation. It’s everyone. Mulling over those statistics begged the question– if mental illness is so prevalent in America, then why are people so surprised by the impact it has had on my life? Why isn’t my experience the norm? Am I just a magnet for misfits? I chewed on those questions for a few weeks. After much thought I’ve decided that no, people haven’t been revealing their struggles to me by chance. The most powerful tool I’ve gained from my time in therapy is the ability to discuss my vulnerabilities without shame. I speak openly, loudly, and honestly about my mental health. For those fighting their own battles with mental illness, the construction of a safe space to discuss mental health is often a welcome change of pace. After all, most Americans view depression as a sign of weakness and openly admit they would be uncomfortable working with or living next to someone who has mental health issues. Public perception of those who specialize in treating mental illness is also fraught with stigma. Mental health professionals rank lower than dentists in terms of perceived honesty and ethicality.

I believe that my willingness to speak openly and honestly about mental illness displays to others that it is okay to not be okay. Months ago when I was fraught with shame, I read a blog post by comedian Chris Gethard titled This is the Face of my Mental Illness. The way he owned his problems inspired me to be less ashamed of mine, which ultimately lead to much more successful therapy sessions. In an effort to pay forward all of the good Gethard has done for me, I offer this picture of myself in the midst of a depressive episode. When I took it I was afraid and feeling hopeless; I had been crying all day, and getting out of bed was a serious win. The greatest victory I’ve ever won was not killing myself. I am not ashamed of that.

Gethard himself said it better than I ever could:

“This is the face of my mental illness.

It’s not so bad.

It doesn’t scare me like it used to, and I’m ok with you seeing it.

If you are suffering, get help. If you feel weak, know you can find some strength.

Stay alive.” — Chris Gethard

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline- 800-273-TALK (8255)

Crisis Text Line- Text “Go” to 741741 - Serves anyone in any type of crisis over text

Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration- 1-800-662-HELP (4357) - To help locate resources near you

TEEN LINE- 310-855-4673 or text Teen to 839863 - Teenagers devoted to helping other teenagers in need

Veteran Crisis Line- 1-800-273-8255 and press 1 or text 838255

The Trevor Project- 866-363-7273 - A resource for LGBTQ+ youth