Mental Health is TRENDING. Always.
Make every day a mental-health day. Don't tell me when to talk, Bell!
It's #bellletstalkday today and I love that people are sharing their mental-health stories. What I don’t love is that some of us feel we need a permission—from a corporation nonetheless—to express our feelings. What Hallmark did for Christmas, Bell is trying to do for Crazy. And much as I appreciate their efforts, like I said, Bell, don’t tell me when to talk. I’ll talk whenever I want. Especially about my mental health.
So let’s talk about me, a middle-aged, solo mom in the city, who has made a career out of writing about being nuts. First of all, I am no longer medicated. No antidepressants, no sleeping pills, no pills to make me less jumpy. I am all for treating your thing with medication and I am all for quitting that medication once you get better. I got better. How, that is still something I am not entirely sure about (short answer, prayer, long answer, I am talking myself out of writing a whole book about it—see*). But I haven't had a depressive episode in quite some time. And I no longer relapse into alcoholic drinking. My biggest challenge these days is feeling like I'm constantly running out of time—the time I need to execute all my brilliant ideas, which feels a bit manic but it's not anything I can't handle*. I'm okay. When people ask me how I am these days that's the big answer: I'm okay. I mean it with every brain cell.
As for mental health in general, the biggest thing about mental health is that although we have become a lot more open to talking about it (I'd even dare to say the stigma is much smaller these days), we still DON'T HAVE ENOUGH RESOURCES to help people, it is still extremely difficult to find a therapist if you're not financially well off (seriously, if you're a single parent in this city and you must take a day off for self-care and risk not making money that day to survive, good fucking luck to your grocery bills).
It is still almost impossible to find a free bed in rehab if you need to go to save your life, still impossible to get immediate help for addiction period, outside of the good ol' culty AA. And it is still impossible to navigate and advocate for yourself if you are vulnerable and new to this. I used to have a column in the Toronto Star where I talked about those things, where I had a platform to bring forth all of the concerns I'd learn about either through my own experience or that of others. The column got killed because of the budget cuts, though they were still open to pieces on mental health but there had to always be a trending spin on it, so, for example, when I wrote about grief, I had to also make sure I'd mention Prince Harry, and suicide went well with Kate Spade (published that one somewhere else). Anyway. Journalism, you know? To celebrate today, here’s my first column for the Toronto Star.
Lamictal. This is one way to describe my shame. It’s also the name of the medication I take but not because I get seizures — it’s an anticonvulsant — but because it stabilizes my moods.
My moods are more balanced now but the shame remains. In fact, there’s even a bit of shame as I write this — it happens sometimes when I expose my madness publicly. Less and less but the doubt is there; a scolding Eastern European-accented voice (mom?) in my head: Let somebody else embarrass herself by writing about her neuroses. You’re not Lena Dunham.
I don’t hear voices in my head. I’d like to emphasize this so that you don’t think that I have schizophrenia — which is the worst Crazy, right?
It is not; there’s no such thing as “the worst” — if I was writing about cancer I would feel no need to assure you it is not that kind of cancer. But the thing about shame is that it can stigmatize you to yourself. (Incidentally, is there a type of cancer used as an insult the way it’s possible to insult with something like “schizo?” I’m not saying it would be easier to have cancer but cancer is a more socially “acceptable” illness to have. Also, for the record, I’d pick my Crazy over cancer any day.) Read the rest here:
*Mania. Yes. On that note, I am no longer committing to publishing substack three times a week. I have a suspicion my enthusiasm for it and the whole idea came out of a mild manic episode. I keep forgetting that I get them and that they feel amazing when they happen but when everything calms down, it’s like suddenly finding yourself living with sixteen kittens and a weasel that I’ve had no intention adopting but I did adopt them because at the time it seemed like the best idea. So now you have to take care of the things, but they are kittens and a weasel and who has the time?