Mental illness gives you time to think. After having to retire at 27 and lacking the energy to do much more than brush my teeth, my days seemed to last forever.
Rather than sink into the darkness and risk being lost, I set myself a mental challenge. I looked for things I could learn from this, the most brutal of circumstances.
As I recovered, I realized I could share what I’d learned. If I could help someone else, my pain wouldn’t have been wasted. I’ll never pretend mental illness made me stronger. It destroyed my mind and body. But it taught me many things I want to share with you today.
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1. We’re more than our illness.
Language matters. I used to refer to people by their medical condition. “The schizophrenic,” “The depressive,” “The bipolar guy.” I kept this bad habit when I wrote, and some readers told me it could be offensive.
Thus, “the schizophrenic” became “a person with schizophrenia.” We must never lose someone’s humanity behind a label. It’s dehumanizing. It’s easier to be cruel to someone who isn’t a complete, unique person with dreams, talents, relationships, and a past. Wars and violent crime are only possible through dehumanization.
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2. Our voices matter.
When I was an inpatient at a mental hospital, none of us had a voice. We were all on a human conveyor belt. The staff stuck us in a TV room for 12 hours a day. Occasionally, they’d break the monotony by asking me to pee in a cup. If it wasn’t a weekend, I might get ten minutes with a psychiatrist.
Once, I walked into an office, and the secretary screamed at me to get out as if I was dangerous. I’d fallen a long way since being a police officer.
It’s not much better for those with a mental illness on the outside. Once you get a reputation for being “a lunatic, a nutter, or a madman,” people assume everything you say is garbage.
Some people remember me as thinking a magician read my thoughts, and the government wanted to send me to Siberia.
In this situation of dehumanization and mockery, it takes a lot of courage to speak up. I promised myself to always talk or write about mental illness, recovery, and the broken system at every opportunity. The more people that join me in this quest, the better. People with influence only listen when you make them. Mental illness grows when kept secret.
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3. We need to listen more.
People are intent on finding complex solutions to mental illness. Scientists are producing new medications and treatments. Therapists are charging enormous amounts for their time.
What if I told you that the simple act of listening can help ease pain in most cases? Therapy is based on this fact. Most people are bad at listening, so therapists charge a lot.
Active listening saves lives. Even a smile — which costs nothing in either time or money — could be a game changer. Loneliness is a plague on the world, and a smile symbolizes connection. You have no idea how powerful a brief conversation can be.
Say hello to people. When you ask how they are, listen. Pay attention to their words and their nonverbal cues. When you talk to someone, make them the center of the world for that time. It won’t just help them; you’ll ease your loneliness too.
. . .
4. Everything is temporary.
Have you ever seen the photo “The Pale Blue Dot”? It’s a photo taken by Voyager of the Earth at a distance of 6 billion kilometers. You can’t fail to be humbled by how tiny we are in the grand scheme of everything.
Every war, murder, and act of abuse and violence takes place on this tiny dot suspended in a sunbeam. And yet we all, me included, worry about the most trivial matters.
The fact that everything is temporary — including existence itself — is both good and bad. It’s bad for those who’re in denial about death, but it’s good for anyone in pain.
No matter how bad your pain is, it’ll pass. This is a technique used in suicide prevention. In the past, I took calls as a Samaritan from people feeling suicidal. As a police officer, I also had to stop many people from taking their lives. But my goal was not to fix them forever.
I’d talk to them for as many hours as necessary, see what help I could get them, and get them to promise to live today. Then tomorrow, they can decide again.
Of course, the goal is that by helping them today, they won’t want to die tomorrow either. But if you pressure someone too much too soon and they’re already desperate, you’ll lose their trust.
The suicidal impulse, like everything else, passes.
. . .
5. Smiles can be deceiving.
I don’t have many photos of myself, but the ones from around 2010 are horrible. Anyone who knows me can see the pain in my eyes. I’m smiling, but I look dead inside. It’s a reminder of terrible times.
How often do you hide behind a smile? How often have you heard families express shock when someone dies by suicide because they seemed so happy?
Sometimes, the “happiest” people are hiding the most profound sadness. When a depressed person decides to end their life, their mood often improves because they’re looking forward to it being over soon.
Learn to look behind the smile, build trust with people, and let them know you care.
. . .
6. The meaning of love.
Those that love you will stick with you no matter what. Somehow, I’ve kept the same girlfriend for 20 years. She’s been there through all my struggles, my anger, and my depression.
She stuck by me when I never left the house, didn’t want to do anything, and couldn’t see past my suffering.
She stuck by me when I was diagnosed as 100% disabled for the rest of my life. That diagnosis should have been the end of hope, but she never gave up.
I sometimes think watching a loved one suffer mental illness is worse than suffering it yourself. That’s how she felt for years.
My mum is the same. She fought to get me help at every stage, even when I resisted. She never gave up and has never faltered in being available 24/7 for any support I need.
Depression robs you of your ability to feel love, and now I’ve recovered, I’ll never take it for granted.
. . .
Final Thoughts.
Can anyone mentally healthy understand what lying in bed at 3 am is like? The silence feels oppressive, trapping you in your own prison.
How do they know what it’s like to cry silently as flashbacks of death play over and over before your eyes?
How can you explain the feeling of hearing voices calling you a worthless scumbag?
How can you convey the fear of believing people are lurking on every corner trying to kidnap or kill you?
You can’t. But you shouldn’t give up trying. To promote understanding of mental illness, we need to bring mentally healthy people as close as possible to our world.
Stigma wilts in the light.
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This post was previously published on Publishous.
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