Talking about mental health

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

Today is Bell Let’s Talk day. 

It’s an important day for me. 

It was 2012 when I sought help; when I finally admitted to myself that I wasn’t myself, and hadn’t been for a long time. 

Initially, I was diagnosed with burnout. On the surface, it made sense. I’d been working a lot of overtime for a while, combined with severe back pain that led to sleepless nights. Yet, I couldn’t disregard the feeling that it might be more than that. 

When blood work ruled out any other causes, and weeks off work hadn’t brought improvement, I was back with my GP. And we talked. I was lucky. I had a doctor who took the time to talk to me – not just about what I was feeling in that moment, or had felt in the weeks previous, but the whole picture.

At the end of the appointment, she told me she suspected I had depression, and moreover had a history of depression. She referred me to a psychologist who confirmed a diagnosis of major depressive disorder. 

With counselling and medication (a few months of trials and errors to find the right medication and dosage) I made gains. I began to slowly recognize myself again. It wasn’t easy. There were dark times; there were more numb times. Numb was worse: feeling empty, ungrounded, like I was teetering on the edge of a void, afraid I might fall in and at the same time, not caring if I did.

But day by day, it got a bit easier. I started to regain my footing. Most of the time I didn’t notice the gains until I looked back in my journal. Only then could I see the progress: three steps forwards, one back – but still, slowly, advancing.

I went back to work. I rejoined life. But only those closest to me knew about my struggles with depression. In some ways, I felt like I was leading a double life. 

As I learned more about mental health and learned to accept that depression is an illness, not a character flaw, the feeling that I was hiding a significant part of my life began to feel increasingly uncomfortable. And, when I’d hear people speaking dismissively or judgementally about a person with anxiety or depression, it felt unauthentic to keep quiet. 

So I began, hesitantly at first, to speak up, to correct the myths and misinformation about mental health and mental illness, which fuel stigma.

And then, three years ago today, inspired by so many people sharing their mental health stories on Bell Let’s Talk day, I finally shared my story widely, putting it on Facebook and Twitter, for my colleagues, friends and family to read. It was a relief not to hide anymore, and I received more support than I'd ever expected.  

My life was good for a few years, but then I began to lose my footing again. But this time, it was different. 

With depression mostly under control, I started to notice how often I lived in the other extreme: days and weeks when my creativity soared and productivity revved up, when ideas flowed and overflowed, when projects and hobbies multiplied unchecked. That excessive energy building, pushing the limits, until it imploded. Then my focus would cloud over, productivity would wane, ideas would dissipate in front of my eyes, and I would find myself stumbling around in a world that was growing dark, all over again. 

I was referred to a psychiatrist and received a different diagnosis: bipolar disorder type II. 

Receiving this diagnosis explained why I had spent most of my life feeling like I was being tossed around in a sea of waves – sometimes struggling  to not be pulled under, sometimes chasing the high of riding the crests, and occasionally, finding the rhythm to bob peacefully on the surface. 

But the idea of being as open about having bipolar II, as I had been about depression, was daunting. There seems to be even more stigma attached to some types of mental illness. Bipolar disorder is one of those.

There is no cure for bipolar disorder, but it can be treated. Finding the right treatment can be (and has been) a long and challenging process. And lonely. I had the support of family and friends, but it’s very hard to effectively explain what this illness, or the struggle to find the right treatment, is like to someone who hasn’t experienced it. 

So I turned to books, blogs and social media, where I found stories from people who had been there before me or who were early into this journey like I was. I recognized the feelings they described. I learned from the information, experiences and insights they shared. 

And I began to talk about having bipolar II the same way I had with depression: openly and unashamedly. 

In my experience, talking about mental health brings micro and macro benefits. 

It has helped me, as a person with bipolar II, accept my illness and overcome my own self-stigma. 

It has resulted in others sharing their stories with me. 

It has encouraged others to consider their mental health and seek help. 

It has prompted people in my life to learn more about mental illness and challenged their perceptions of mental health. And now, when they find themselves in a conversation about mental health, they too can help to bust the myths and correct misinformation that fuel stigma.  

By eliminating stigma, by creating a society that approaches mental health the same way it approaches physical health, we can improve and save lives.