I’m about to go speak to NAMI Ohio’s statewide conference, Fulfilling the Promise. These are the remarks I prepared for my speech.
Before I begin, I want to warn you that this talk touches on many triggering subjects, including self-harm and suicide. I also want you to know that I’m speaking from my personal experience, and that if you or someone you know may be living with mental illness, please talk to a licensed and qualified medical professional, because I am not a doctor.
Okay, let’s do this.
Hi, I’m Wil Wheaton. I’m 45 years-old, I have a wonderful wife, two adult children who make me proud every day, and a daughter in-law who I love like she’s my own child. I work on the most popular comedy series in the world, I’ve been a New York Times Number One Bestselling Audiobook narrator, I have run out of space in my office for the awards I’ve received for my work, and as a white, heterosexual, cisgender man in America, I live life on the lowest difficulty setting – with the Celebrity cheat enabled.
My life is, by every objective measurement, very very good.
And in spite of all of that, I struggle every day with my self esteem, my self worth, and my value not only as an actor and writer, but as a human being.
That’s because I live with Depression and Anxiety, the tag team champions of the World Wrestling With Mental Illness Federation.
And I’m not ashamed to stand here, in front of six hundred people in this room, and millions more online, and proudly say that I live with mental illness, and that’s okay. I say “with” because even though my mental illness tries its best, it doesn’t control me, it doesn’t define me, and I refuse to be stigmatized by it.
So. My name is Wil Wheaton, and I have Chronic Depression.
It took me over thirty years to be able to say those ten words, and I suffered for most of them as a result. I suffered because though we in America have done a lot to help people who live with mental illness, we have not done nearly enough to make it okay for our fellow travelers on the wonky brain express to reach out and accept that help.
I’m here today to talk with you about working to end the stigma and prejudice that surrounds mental illness in America, and as part of that, I want to share my story with you.
When I was a little kid, probably seven or eight years old, I started having panic attacks. Back then, we didn’t know that’s what they were, and because they usually happened when I was asleep, the adults in my life just thought I had nightmares. Well, I did have nightmares, but they were so much worse than just bad dreams. Night after night, I’d wake up in absolute terror, and night after night, I’d drag my blankets off my bed, to go to sleep on the floor in my sister’s bedroom, because I was so afraid to be alone.
There were occasional stretches of relief, sometimes for months at a time, and during those months, I felt like what I considered to be a normal kid, but the panic attacks always came back, and each time they came back, they seemed worse than before.
When I was around twelve or thirteen, my anxiety began to express itself in all sorts of delightful ways.
I worried about everything. I was tired all the time, and irritable most of the time. I had no confidence and terrible self-esteem. I felt like I couldn’t trust anyone who wanted to be close to me, because I was convinced that I was stupid and worthless and the only reason anyone would want to be my friend was to take advantage of my fame.
This is important context. When I was thirteen, I was in an internationally-beloved film called Stand by Me, and I was famous. Like, really famous, like, can’t-go-to-the-mall-with-my-friends-without-getting-mobbed famous, and that meant that all of my actions were scrutinized by my parents, my peers, my fans, and the press. All the weird, anxious feelings I had all the time? I’d been raised to believe that they were shameful. That they reflected poorly on my parents and my family. That they should be crammed down deep inside me, shared with nobody, and kept secret.
My panic attacks happened daily, and not just when I was asleep. When I tried to reach out to the adults in my life for help, they didn’t take me seriously. When I was on the set of a tv show or commercial, and I was having a hard time breathing because I was so anxious about making a mistake and getting fired? The directors and producers complained to my parents that I was being difficult to work with. When I was so uncomfortable with my haircut or my crooked teeth and didn’t want to pose for teen magazine photos, the publicists told me that I was being ungrateful and trying to sabotage my success. When I couldn’t remember my lines, because I was so anxious about things I can’t even remember now, directors would accuse me of being unprofessional and unprepared. And that’s when my anxiety turned into depression.
(I’m going to take a moment for myself right now, and I’m going to tear a hole in the fabric of spacetime and I’m going to tell all those adults from the past: give this kid a break. He’s scared. He’s confused. He is doing the best he can, and if you all could stop seeing him as a way to put money into your pockets, maybe you could see that he’s suffering and needs help.)
I was miserable a lot of the time, and it didn’t make any sense. I was living a childhood dream, working on Star Trek: The Next Generation, and getting paid to do what I loved. I had all the video games and board games I ever wanted, and did I mention that I was famous?
I struggled to reconcile the facts of my life with the reality of my existence. I knew something was wrong with me, but I didn’t know what. And because I didn’t know what, I didn’t know how to ask for help.
I wish I had known that I had a mental illness that could be treated! I wish I had known that that the way I felt wasn’t normal and it wasn’t necessary. I wish I had known that I didn’t deserve to feel bad, all the time.
And I didn’t know those things, because Mental Illness was something my family didn’t talk about, and when they did, they talked about it like it was something that happened to someone else, and that it was something they should be ashamed of, because it was a result of something they did. This prejudice existed in my family in spite of the ample incidence of mental illness that ran rampant through my DNA, featuring successful and unsuccessful suicide attempts by my relations, more than one case of bipolar disorder, clinical depression everywhere, and, because of self-medication, so much alcoholism, it was actually notable when someone didn’t have a drinking problem.
Now, I don’t blame my parents for how they addressed – or more accurately didn’t address – my mental illness, because I genuinely believe they were blind to the symptoms I was exhibiting. They grew up and raised me in the world I’ve spent the last decade of my life trying to change. They lived in a world where mental illness was equated with weakness, and shame, and as a result, I suffered until I was in my thirties.
And it’s not like I never reached out for help. I did! I just didn’t know what questions to ask, and the adults I was close to didn’t know what answers to give.
I clearly remember being twenty-two, living in my own house, waking up from a panic attack that was so terrifying just writing about it for this talk gave me so much anxiety I almost cut this section from my speech. It was the middle of the night, and I drove across town, to my parents’ house, to sleep on the floor of my sister’s bedroom again, because at least that’s where I felt safe. The next morning, I tearfully asked my mom what was wrong with me. She knew that many of my blood relatives had mental illness, but she couldn’t or wouldn’t connect the dots. “You’re just realizing that the world is a scary place,” she said.
Yeah, no kidding. The world terrifies me every night of my life and I don’t know why or how to stop it.
Again, I don’t blame her and neither should you. She really was doing the best that she could for me, but stigma and the shame is inspires are powerful things.
I want to be very clear on this: Mom, I know you’re going to read this or hear this and I know it’s going to make you upset. I want you to know that I love you, and I know that you did the very best you could. I’m telling my story, though, so someone else’s mom can see the things you didn’t, through no fault of your own.
Through my twenties, I continued to suffer, and not just from nightmares and panic attacks. I began to develop obsessive behaviors that I’ve never talked about in public until right now. Here’s a very incomplete list: I began to worry that the things I did would affect the world around me in totally irrational ways. I would hold my breath underneath bridges when I was driving, because if I didn’t, maybe I’d crash my car. I would tap the side of an airplane with my hand while I was boarding, and tell it to take care of me when I flew places for work, because I was convinced that if I didn’t, the plane would crash. Every single time I said goodbye to someone I cared about, my brain would play out in vivid detail how I would remember this as the last time I saw them. Talking about those memories, even without getting into specifics, is challenging. It’s painful to recall, but I’m not ashamed, because all those thoughts – which I thankfully don’t have any more, thanks to medical science and therapy – were not my fault any more than the allergies that clog my sinuses when the trees in my neighborhood start doin’ it every spring are my fault. It’s just part of who I am. It’s part of how my brain is wired, and because I know that, I can medically treat it, instead of being a victim of it.
One of the primary reasons I speak out about my mental illness, is so that I can make the difference in someone’s life that I wish had been made in mine when I was young, because not only did I have no idea what Depression even was until I was in my twenties, once I was pretty sure that I had it, I suffered with it for another fifteen years, because I was ashamed, I was embarrassed, and I was afraid.
So I am here today to tell anyone who can hear me: if you suspect that you have a mental illness, there is no reason to be ashamed, or embarrassed, and most importantly, you do not need to be afraid. You do not need to suffer. There is nothing noble in suffering, and there is nothing shameful or weak in asking for help. This may seem really obvious to a lot of you, but it wasn’t for me, and I’m a pretty smart guy, so I’m going to say it anyway: There is no reason to feel embarrassed when you reach out to a professional for help, because the person you are reaching out to is someone who has literally dedicated their life to helping people like us live, instead of merely exist.
That difference, between existing and living, is something I want to focus on for a minute: before I got help for my anxiety and depression, I didn’t truly live my life. I wanted to go do things with my friends, but my anxiety always found a way to stop me. Traffic would just be too stressful, it would tell me. It’s going to be a real hassle to get there and find parking, it would helpfully observe. And if those didn’t stop me from leaving my house, there was always the old reliable: What if…? Ah, “What if… something totally unlikely to happen actually happens? What if the plane crashes? What if I sit next to someone who freaks me out? What if they laugh at me? What if I get lost? What if I get robbed? What if I get locked out of my hotel room? What if I slip on some ice I didn’t see? What if there’s an earthquake? What if what if what if what if…
When I look back on most of my life, it breaks my heart that when my brain was unloading an endless pile of what ifs on me, it never asked, “What if I go do this thing that I want to do, and it’s … fun? What if I enjoy myself, and I’m really glad I went?”
I have to tell you a painful truth: I missed out on a lot of things, during what are supposed to be the best years of my life, because I was paralyzed by What If-ing anxiety.
All the things that people do when they are living their lives … all those experiences that make up a life, my anxiety got in between me and doing them. So I wasn’t living. I was just existing.
And through it all, I never stopped to ask myself if this was normal, or healthy, or even if it was my fault. I just knew that I was nervous about stuff, and I worried a lot. For my entire childhood, my mom told me that I was a worry wart, and my dad said I was overly dramatic about everything, and that’s just the way it was.
Except it didn’t have to be that way, and it took me having a full blown panic attack and a complete meltdown at Los Angeles International Airport for my wife to suggest to me that I get help.
Like I said, I had suspected for years that I was clinically depressed, but I was afraid to admit it, until the most important person in my life told me without shame or judgment that she could see that I was suffering. So I went to see a doctor, and I will never forget what he said, when I told him how afraid I was: “Please let me help you.”
I think it was then, at about 34 years-old, that I realized that Mental Illness is not weakness. It’s just an illness. I mean, it’s right there in the name “Mental ILLNESS” so it shouldn’t have been the revelation that it was, but when the part of our bodies that is responsible for how we perceive the world and ourselves is the same part of our body that is sick, it can be difficult to find objectivity or perspective.
So I let my doctor help me. I started a low dose of an antidepressant, and I waited to see if anything was going to change.
And boy did it.
My wife and I were having a walk in our neighborhood and I realized that it was just a really beautiful day – it was warm with just a little bit of a breeze, the birds sounded really beautiful, the flowers smelled really great and my wife’s hand felt really good in mine.
And as we were walking I just started to cry and she asked me, “what’s wrong?”
I said “I just realized that I don’t feel bad and I just realized that I’m not existing, I’m living.”
At that moment, I realized that I had lived my life in a room that was so loud, all I could do every day was deal with how loud it was. But with the help of my wife, my doctor, and medical science, I found a doorway out of that room.
I had taken that walk with my wife almost every day for nearly ten years, before I ever noticed the birds or the flowers, or how loved I felt when I noticed that her hand was holding mine. Ten years – all of my twenties – that I can never get back. Ten years of suffering and feeling weak and worthless and afraid all the time, because of the stigma that surrounds mental illness.
I’m not religious, but I can still say Thank God for Anne Wheaton. Thank God for her love and support. Thank God that my wife saw that I was hurting, and thank God she didn’t believe the lie that Depression is weakness, or something to be ashamed of. Thank God for Anne, because if she hadn’t had the strength to encourage me to seek professional help, I don’t know how much longer I would have been able to even exist, to say nothing of truly living.
I started talking in public about my mental illness in 2012, and ever since then, people reach out to me online every day, and they ask me about living with depression and anxiety. They share their stories, and ask me how I get through a bad day, or a bad week.
Here’s one of the things I tell them:
One of the many delightful things about having Depression and Anxiety is occasionally and unexpectedly feeling like the whole goddamn world is a heavy lead blanket, like that thing they put on your chest at the dentist when you get x-rays, and it’s been dropped around your entire existence without your consent.
Physically, it weighs heavier on me in some places than it does in others. I feel it tugging at the corners of my eyes, and pressing down on the center of my chest. When it’s really bad, it can feel like one of those dreams where you try to move, but every step and every motion feels like you’re struggling to move through something heavy and viscous. Emotionally, it covers me completely, separating me from my motivation, my focus, and everything that brings me joy in my life.
When it drops that lead apron over us, we have to remind ourselves that one of the things Depression does, to keep itself strong and in charge, is tell us lies, like: I am the worst at everything. Nobody really likes me. I don’t deserve to be happy. This will never end. And so on and so on. We can know, in our rational minds, that this is a giant bunch of bullshit (and we can look at all these times in our lives when were WERE good at a thing, when we genuinely felt happy, when we felt awful but got through it, etc.) but in the moment, it can be a serious challenge to wait for Depression to lift the roadblock that’s keeping us from moving those facts from our rational mind to our emotional selves.
And that’s the thing about Depression: we can’t force it to go away. As I’ve said, if I could just “stop feeling sad” I WOULD. (And, also, Depression isn’t just feeling sad, right? It’s a lot of things together than can manifest themselves into something that is most easily simplified into “I feel sad.”)
So another step in our self care is to be gentle with ourselves. Depression is beating up on us already, and we don’t need to help it out. Give yourself permission to acknowledge that you’re feeling terrible (or bad, or whatever it is you are feeling), and then do a little thing, just one single thing, that you probably don’t feel like doing, and I PROMISE you it will help. Some of those things are:
Take a shower.
Eat a nutritious meal.
Take a walk outside (even if it’s literally to the corner and back).
Do something – throw a ball, play tug of war, give belly rubs – with a dog. Just about any activity with my dogs, even if it’s just a snuggle on the couch for a few minutes, helps me.
Do five minutes of yoga stretching.
Listen to a guided meditation and follow along as best as you can.
Finally, please trust me and know that this shitty, awful, overwhelming, terrible way you feel IS NOT FOREVER. It will get better. It always gets better. You are not alone in this fight, and you are OK.
Right now, there is a child somewhere who has the same panic attacks I had, and their parents aren’t getting them help, because they believe it reflects poorly on their parenting to have a child with mental illness. Right now, there is a teenager who is contemplating self harm, because they don’t know how to reach out and ask for help. Right now, there are too many people struggling just to get to the end of the day, because they can’t afford the help that a lot of us can’t live without. But there are also people everywhere who are picking up the phone and making an appointment. There are parents who have learned that mental illness is no different than physical illness, and they’re helping their children get better. There are adults who, like me, were terrified that antidepressant medication would make them a different person, and they’re hearing the birds sing for the first time, because they have finally found their way out of the dark room.
I spent the first thirty years of my life trapped in that dark, loud room, and I know how hopeless and suffocating it feels to be in there, so I do everything I can to help others find their way out. I do that by telling my story, so that my privilege and success does more than enrich my own life. I can live by example for someone else the way Jenny Lawson lives by example for me.
But I want to leave you today with some suggestions for things that we can all do, even if you’re not Internet Famous like I am, to help end the stigma of mental illness, so that nobody has to merely exist, when they could be living.
We can start by demanding that our elected officials fully fund mental health programs. No person anywhere, especially here in the richest country in the world, should live in the shadows or suffer alone, because they can’t afford treatment. We have all the money in the world for weapons and corporate tax cuts, so I know that we can afford to prioritize not just health care in general, but mental health care, specifically.
And until our elected officials get their acts together, we can support organizations like NAMI, that offer low and no-cost assistance to anyone who asks for it. We can support organizations like Project UROK, that work tirelessly to end stigmatization and remind us that we are sick, not weak.
We can remember, and we can remind each other, that there is no finish line when it comes to mental illness. It’s a journey, and sometimes we can see the path we’re on all the way to the horizon, while other times we can’t even see five feet in front of us because the fog is so thick. But the path is always there, and if we can’t locate it on our own, we have loved ones and doctors and medications to help us find it again, as long as we don’t give up trying to see it.
Finally, we who live with mental illness need to talk about it, because our friends and neighbors know us and trust us. It’s one thing for me to stand here and tell you that you’re not alone in this fight, but it’s something else entirely for you to prove it. We need to share our experiences, so someone who is suffering the way I was won’t feel weird or broken or ashamed or afraid to seek treatment. So that parents don’t feel like they have failed or somehow screwed up when they see symptoms in their kids.
People tell me that I’m brave for speaking out the way I do, and while I appreciate that, I don’t necessarily agree. Firefighters are brave. Single parents who work multiple jobs to take care of their kids are brave. The Parkland students are brave. People who reach out to get help for their mental illness are brave. I’m not brave. I’m just a writer and occasional actor who wants to share his privilege and good fortune with the world, who hopes to speak out about mental health so much that one day, it will be wholly unremarkable to stand up and say fifteen words:
My name is Wil Wheaton, I live with chronic depression, and I am not ashamed.
Thank you for listening to me, and please be kind to each other.
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Tears… you have touched my heart ❤️ I’m 53 years old and I have generalized anxiety and your words speak to me. Thank you for sharing.
You are my hero Wil Wheaton – for living your life. Well done. And keep on doing.
Exactly what Gene said.
knowledge is power, share it well
Seems everything is coming up Wheaton of late, keep it up good sir
Thank you for sharing this.
You’re an amazing human being, and I’m glad that you’re here. Thanks, for everything.
Dear Wil, thank you for sharing this speech.
Indeed it is a challenge living with depression. I’ve been through some tough times with it myself and I don’t know if or when it will come back. So far as an adult it has tried to convince me I wasn’t smart enough for post-graduate studies even when I had a scholarship to a very good school (one of what might as well be considered on of Canada’s Ivy League caliber of schools); it has tried to convince me that I wasn’t good enough to get a job after I finished my MA degree; it tried to convince me over and over again that I wasn’t good enough to have friends or a family; it made me so weak that I didn’t notice when someone was nudging me deeper into it when they noticed I was vulnerable and thought maybe they wouldn’t have to cope with me much longer if I just went a little deeper–yeah, that person hoped I would commit suicide; most recently it convinced me that I lost a job because I deserved to lose the job, that the manager who was a workplace bully to many targeted me for the same reason bullies targeted me when I was a teen: that I was a no good person. It nearly took me down and one day I happened to ask myself the “right” question… I asked myself how I got through it in the past. You’ve hit on some of the things in you speech: meditation, being active, and I added a daily reflection on gratitude.
Sadly, I lost several people I love from my life the last time I went through a nasty patch with depression. They just don’t want to be part of my life any more because they fear I could fall back into it at any time.
You’re right about it being an illness. It can be treated, and it takes careful management of that by professionals. For some of us–as was your case–medication can help. For some, medication backfires and exacerbates the problems. Like a common cold, or any other illness that we humans typically tend to overcome time and time again, a mental illness can be treated.
And it is time that we do more about it. Encouraging people to get help is a great thing, yet somehow the stigma remains. I can hope, like I know you do, that we will come to be more humane about it sooner than later.
Thanks as always for sharing your story.
“I have everything I could want out of life but am still unhappy for some reason.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“It’s not my fault.”
“Why?”
These and a million other sound bytes are the screenplay of my own life. Empathy connects us, love can save us, but greed is destroying us. I really hope your voice carries this momentum through the hearts and minds of those who should be listening – those who desperately need change, and those capable of affecting change.
When things get rough, though it may not help, just try to remember that you, through your own compassion and experience set an example to others and have almost certainly saved at least one life just by saying, “Me, too.”
The bravery of people who will stand up and discuss serious and sensitive topics always inspires me. Thanks much for sharing. I think everyone, other than a tiny fraction with charmed lives, has experienced periods of depression to a greater or lesser degree. It is not shameful and it’s unfortunate that many people do not have friends and/or family that they can share their feelings with. Hopefully public figures speaking out honestly regarding their own challenges will make it easier for others to work through the challenges that they face.
Thank you for this. You covered most everything I experience except the feeling that I’m making this all up and am not really ill. I particularly like the lead apron comparison; I still have days when it’s so heavy I’m unable to leave my bed, even on medication. 🙁
I’m one of those weird folks who notice other people’s typos, and I saw a few here; do you want to know about them? I’d also love to be one of your Beta readers; I’ve done it for others (I can provide a reference), and enjoy it immensely. It also gives me a reason to conquer the lead apron and get out of my dang bed!
I also ran across a quote I shared many years ago but failed to credit its author. It sounds an awful lot like something you would have said, could you confirm or deny that you were its author, please? (Or, perhaps identify the source?) I like giving credit where it’s due:
“I get that you don’t really mean that shit. I get that you’re just talking out your ass. But please listen, and please trust me on this one:
You have probably, at some point in your life, engaged in that kind of talk with a man who really, truly hates women—to the extent of having beaten and/or raped at least one. And you probably didn’t know which one he was.
And that guy? Thought you were on his side.”
I know you’re busy and have a full life. I would really appreciate a response, but understand if one is not forthcoming.
You are an inspiration and source of strength for me and many. I’m glad you are here and hope one day to see you across the table at a con. Thanks for being here and being you.
Okay, so I’m sitting here bawling my face off right now. I’m the same age and grew up with the same stigma against mental health despite there clearly being something wrong with my brain chemistry – toss in a violent childhood and a narcissistic mother, and that’s me in a nut shell. I can’t even imagine how much worse it would have been to be in the public eye the same way you were, Wil. I doubt I’d still be around today if it were me.
As I’ve gotten older and learned more about what I live with, the more vocal I have gotten about my own mental health issues. I was diagnosed as being bi-polar II (the one that has the really bad lows without any real highs or true manic episodes) several years ago, and due to the way I was raised I was scared to talk about it. I remember the first time I brought it up with my mother she told me I was just attention seeking. Despite her having admitted several years earlier that she had been admitted to a mental institution when she was younger for her own mental health issues. But no, I was only seeking attention as there was nothing wrong with me. Thankfully I had a damn good doctor and mental health team backing me or I may have believed her like I had about so many things that have later turned out to be lies on her part. Anyhow, I digress.
I do my best to advocate for others who are dealing with mental health issues and let them know that they are never alone. I wish I was able to reach a larger audience like you are able to, so I will continue sharing links to your writing in the hopes that more people will realize that they don’t need to suffer in silence, that there is a way to live with depression or any of the other multitude of mental health issues out there. For me, you’re an inspiration and part of the reason I find myself able to speak about my own experiences, struggles and triumphs alike, to those who will listen.
Will
Thank you for awaken this world to the reality of mental illness.
Wil, brother was in a time of secrets, stigma and no proper understanding. He was 42 years old when he passed away from a failed attempt on his life, with a gallon of gasoline and a match. He lived 27 days in a burnunit in Maine. Over 90℅ of his body burns were 3 degree.
Years of attempts, diagnoses with manic depression.
My dad stuffer from it also, and now my son 4o yrs old.
After the self medicating, and unreachable door open by God … my chance to get an attorney who truly believed in mental illness, and get him in rehab and treatment. A twenty two years heartache, got help because it was court ordered, today he is back as a chef, on TV and raising. He is taking your rehab guys and teaching them the skill. He has finally made it a year. Mental illness that drove the addiction..
Mood stabilizer, allot of God and faith to handle only what he needs to…the Serenity Party.
I wish you had written this 25 years ago Wil when I was struggling raising my foster kids and you were struggling to be able to address your two boys as your sons rather than your stepsons.
Thank you for that Wil. Let’s hope that in our lifetime those 15 words become as easy to say as “Just popping to the shops, want me to get you anything while I’m there love?”. Also hope your fine words move to action the people that need it the most!
So eloquently stated. I always find your posts refreshing and insightful, and after reading your post in its entirety, I have realized that my 11 year old kid is you at your younger self. We have known for some time that there is something different with him. We’ve struggled to find a therapist who meets his needs, but I believe we’ve finally found someone.
Thank you for sharing your journey.
I hope you know how much you inspire and comfort so many who are in the trenches of depression & anxiety with you. Thank you for your honesty, your advocacy and for all around being an awesome, cool dude. I’ve recently been trying to figure out how to explain my anxiety to my 7-year old, who already shows some signs of inheriting the tendency. You’ve given me some food for thought about how to do that. You rock.
p.s. I’m on the last disc of the Ready Player One audiobook, and holy hell, man! You did a fan-fucking-tastic job on that narration! It was almost painful to leave my car and have to go into work when Wade is just about to enter the crystal gate 😛
Thank you for doing this and being such a wonderful advocate for mental health. I shared this on my Facebook. Mental illness also runs through my family, and I myself have chronic depression that I didn’t seek help for until I was 35, so I’m hoping my family will read this and it will make things easier for those who are younger than me.
I’ve had my “crying” moment because I’m feeling alive while sitting on a bench in a park. I think it’s something about nature that triggers these moments of emotional release.
When your depression starts to weigh heavier again (and it always comes back), just remember that you’re not the only one with a depression. In fact, you’d be surprised how many people are in a similar situation. Just remember, in your darkest hour, that eventually there’ll be light again. It’ll never go away. It’ll always sit there, slumbering. But there will always be a time when things get back in balance.
Oh and you may not think of yourself as “brave”, but that doesn’t make what you’re doing any less important.
Thank you.
Thank you,I knew bits and pieces of your story, but i don’t think I’ve ever had it laid out in this massive volume before, maybe I have. . I did relate to people not taking me seriously at first, but it wasn’t my family because i would not tell my family what was going on.Eventually it came out and they’ve been supportive and making sure I get what I need to be successful. I don’t know if I should share this or not, but I wrote a piece a little over a year ago about my own experience with MI and why mental health should be covered but I’m gonna share it, you can read, but you don’t have to I won’t be hurt either way. https://medium.com/@prplchknz/why-mental-health-should-be-covered-742d95d6e50c
This resonates with me so very deeply. I recognize so many of the mental patterns you describe in myself (the nighttime panic attacks, even the airplane). I hope some day everyone can be treated for their illnesses without stigma, and with the recognition that some illnesses are chronic and may never be truly healed, only managed. Thanks for this, from the bottom of my heart.
You have helped me understand something I have often misunderstood. I have helped me see the invisible illness. This is very important. What can I say except thank you.
I can never possibly thank you enough for your openness regarding mental health. Your posts and Anne’s posts on this helped my husband get diagnosed. And that knowledge helped us identify anxiety in our daughter.
Because of you, she’s getting the help she needs at an early age so hopefully she’ll never have to suffer the way you did.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Thank you for sharing. You’ve become an inspiration to me in my own struggles with mental health. Not because you don’t struggle, but because you DO struggle. You talk about it. You share your own experience. I know it gives hope to a lot of people just like me that we. are. not. alone.
Thank you!!!!
I cried when I read this and I’m still crying now.
My younger brother suffers from depression and while he is doing fine now, he sure wasn’t as a kid and teenager. When I read your beautiful speech it reminded me of so many things in my own family: my mother, who got help for my brother eventually but was so ashamed. My brother, who never even once told me how bad he really felt. And of course the question: shouldn’t I have known? Couldn’t I have done something to help?
Thank you, Wil, for this wonderful text. You might not think you are brave but considering that I couldn’t, to this day, summon up the courage to really talk with my own brother about his illness – I take the liberty to strongly disagree.
My name is Angie Marr Fielder, I live with Major Depressive Disorder and Anxiety, and I am not ashamed.
Thank you, Wil, for sharing your story. Each time I hear your story, I am reminded to share my story, too.
Thank you Wil, I wish my mom could have read this for herself, she knew she had severe bipolar issues but due to being part of the pre-boomer generation she refused to talk about it and acted like it was a shame on the family name. Had she been more open I think she’d have found the will to keep going rather than rage quit at 79. And it would have helped her children’s lives as they struggled to deal with her illness as well. ❤️
I wonder how good the healthcare system is in America. Because over here it is some kind of cliche that almost every American has a shrink. I wonder if you have the same problems we do.
Over here it’s hard to get help, even if I want to. I know I have chronic depression. I have had it for at least 10 years. But in my area of Germany there is only one psychologist. (Or whatever you call those that are not allowed to prescribe anything but only do the verbal therapy. Over here in Germany psychiatrists usually only prescribe medicine and then send you off to somebody you can talk to.)
Anyways, here is only one. One I went to when I was still a teen, because she is specialized in treating teens. Even if I had not noticed back then that she was the wrong person for me, I would not even be allowed to see her today.
But the thing is: I am too afraid to go out of the door most days. I have a nervous bladder thanks to my anxiety (and thanks to a longterm bladder illness when I was a kid it is a bit too small). I do not pee myself. EVER. But I always feel like I‘m close to doing it, and because of that I can only safely travel in a distance of maybe 10 walking minutes around my house on good days. Now that the icecream parlor is open after winter again, even further. Because I know if I buy icecream they‘ll let me use their restrooms.
And I just notice I can travel by train, as long as it’s not a regional one (those don’t have toilets). So I‘ve already regained some liberty and mobility. But not enough to travel to the next city on a regular basis (30 minutes by bus, no toilet on the way) to visit a therapist.
And I feel my depression that was asleep for the most of the last ten years (except for some breakdowns during bachelor and master thesis that are said to be normal even for healthy students) is now getting worse. I‘ve been unemployed ever since I got my masters degree and now I know I will have to move. And I don’t even know if I‘m fit for working. Not even physically. (I have some chronic diseases, only half a lung, some disabilities, …) And I really feel like breaking down and I know I need help with my fear, with not knowing if I‘m actually ABLE to work, if I‘m stable enough not to cause an employer too much money. And I have NO way to get to the help I need so badly.
So … I truly hope that the United States are better than Germany when it comes to that. That even in small towns there are shrinks and therapists helping those who just can’t get to the next big city. I hope, out there everybody will get the help you got, earlier in their illness than you and me.
Or that at least you speaking up – and maybe us commentators telling our stories – will make the administration, all those politicians, wake up and notice that there is still a lot to do. Not only to make people unashamed to ask for help, but to make sure once they ask, they actually CAN get it.
Thank you for sharing your story. It made me cry – which is a good thing. Crying helps to relief the pressure and pain.
Thanks 🙂
Thank you for sharing. While I deal with my own mild forms of anxiety and depression, my husband suffers them both in crippling ways. Reading stories like yours continues to educate me on how I can be a supportive partner.
I’m crying. That speech is beautiful and touching and brilliant.
[TW abuse, suicide] I was always sick as a kid. I was probably diagnosable with OCD during elementary school. I was a perfectionist. I spent weeks feeling awful physically and emotionally. My mom knew something was wrong and I started seeing counselors on and off beginning on 5th grade. They could see I was anxious and maybe depressed, but you can’t really medicate a 1w year old, so ¯_(ツ)_/¯.
I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder in 2002. Looking back on it, the high dose of zoloft I was given to treat the depression I was experiencing in high school was 1) not helping the depression and 2) causing me to have 48 hour manic episodes. I was constantly trying medications and none of them were really helping. My life felt like crap. My abusive partner made that worse. I tried to kill myself.
But even after finding medications that helped keep me mood stable (in 2012), I was still anxious and depressed and hyper reactive to everything. We figured out that it was PTSD. I had been remembering on and off since about age 20 that my father had sexually abused me. Like, for my whole childhood. I still talked to him and saw him regularly after that, because I was making him financially support me (kind of a “he owes me” thing). I didn’t know that that contact was perpetuating the problem. I am still, a decade into intensive therapy, working out my feelings with that subject. I still have some PTSD symptoms. There are things I can’t do because they’re triggering. They have discovered that childhood trauma lives in the body (like thetans!) and there are exercises to try and help your body release that stored up stress from forever ago. It’s helping.
I still usually keep my diagnosis from my employers and coworkers (in Texas you can still be fired for mental illness. I know, I have been once already) but I’ve gotten to where I will talk about my struggles to anyone else. Because it’s just a part of me. It’s not interesting. It’s just another thing I take pills for.
I am so thankful for you and Jenny Lawson and all the other celebrities out there talking about your own dealings with this stuff. Because until people can say “oh yeah, my depression is kicking my ass” in conversation with anyone, the work isn’t done.
I am so stirred by your words! Our family has issues that we are just starting to recognize and try to work with. We all need to be able to stand up to the problems of anxiety and depression. THANK YOU, Wil!!!
That was truly inspiring. Thank you for sharing your story.
From someone who is ashamed and has a hard time speaking out….thank you.
Wil. This is an amazing speech and you are such a gifted writer. You’ve now moved to the top of my “if I could have dinner with anyone I wanted…” list alongside Anthony Bourdain. Assuming that never happens, I really hope to read your autobiography someday, and not just “the Wesley years”.
P.S. I hope your family talks about it now. It’s never too late. ❤️
Thanks for sharing, Wil, very inspiring! You would make a great spokesperson for helping people with depression get proper treatment.
On a side note: Is it too early to ask if there will be another TableTop season, or has that ship sailed? Would like to hear your opinion on Gloomhaven.
I can already hear the thunderous applause this will receive. Thank you for being a voice for those of us with differently wired brains.
I will contradict one point you made, though: you ARE brave. You said “People who reach out to get help for their mental illness are brave.” That’s YOU. You’re also a person who reached out in reply to a comment on another post and encouraged me to get help for my mental illness, and that is also brave.
Thanks again, Wil.
Thank you Wil.
I’m sitting in a coffee shop, trying very hard not to cry big tears, because this is SO WELL SAID and SO IMPORTANT and SO RAW. Also, SO RELATABLE. I have some thoughts that I don’t really feel comfortable sharing publicly, but I will say: thank you so much for using whatever privilege you were born into and whatever spotlight you’ve achieved (because any spotlight you have now is because of work you’ve done your entire life, that’s your success, and anyone–including your own inner shitty voices–who says otherwise is stupid or lying) to speak up about this and be so open. People have told me my openness about my mental illness inspires them to be more open about their own, and I always credit you and Jenny Lawson for inspiring me. So yea, thank you so very much.
Thanks for sharing your speech. The room is a little dusty now. I too was a nomadic sleeper, seeking asylum in various spots after pacing in circles like a skipping record player: under parents’ or siblings’ beds, on the stairs, under the kitchen table, etc. I hadn’t tied that behavior to chronic depression or anxiety — those lifelong companions — but see that connection clearly in the rear view now. I smile at that epiphany. I too work with a professional and strongly encourage anyone needing help to do so.
Now playing in my head: “Damn These Vampires” by the Mountain Goats.
Wow! Thank you for sharing this. So many of us “ordinary” people struggle with mental illness every day. Our society has stigmatized mental illness for so long and it’s important for people to come out of the shadows and ask for help. It is also important for those who are mentally healthy to accept and support us when we do. The first step is being able to speak about it openly. I’ve suffered from depression and anxiety my whole life. Although I knew much of it was caused by emotional trauma as a child, I only recently discovered that the true condition I suffer from is complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. If you suffer from depression and/or anxiety and had a difficult childhood, look up CPTSD. It won’t cure your symptoms, but it will help you to better understand why you feel and react the way you do and maybe be a little easier on yourself. Knowing you are not alone in your struggle lifts a heavy burden off your heart.
Seek out MDMA Assisted Psychotherapy for PTSD then prepare for your life to change. It works, to an incredibly profound degree. It will be legal in 2021, but until then there are ways to pursue it, with trained psychotherapists, underground. Find a psychedelic integration circle or meet-up in your area and tell people there that you are looking for help with your C-PTSD and want to try therapy with MDMA. Good luck. 🙂
Right after I posted my comment here, I opened the newest Boing Boing email digest in my inbox and a link to this post was one of the first things in it!
Well said, and I loved the call out to Jenny Lawson. Thankfully, my brain chemistry is such that I’ve never had to battle depression personally, but I am still thankful for the way that both you, Jenny, and others work to correct the inaccurate cultural preconceptions and pervasive stigma of mental illness. I think doing so is of great benefit not only to those who suffer from mental illness, but to society as a whole. I hope that people who are suffering needlessly find your words and are inspired to get the help that they need.
Thank you for using your fame and experience to bring attention to this in such an honest and heartfelt way. You may not think it was brave, but I (and many of your other fans) certainly do.
I found this very moving. Thank you for sharing.
What a beautiful speech. Thank you so much for sharing it with us. I have depression and anxiety as well and my family and I didn’t realize it until I was 35 (about 4 years ago) and my sister died and I just basically stopped sleeping and could no longer work. Until then I just thought it was who I was. A very flawed unlucky moody person who wished to be different because living as me was so freaking hard. It actually never crossed my mind that this wasn’t normal. It never crossed my mind to speak about it to someone else because we don’t do feelings in my family (I don’t blame my parents either for this; that’s how they were raised). Like you put it so justly I was existing and not living. It was all about making it day to day. As much as I wish I could change the past I am deeply grateful for science and therapy, my family’s support and the person I’ve become.
I’m also deeply grateful to you. Your words have helped me along on my journey to understanding these illnesses and on how they affect us, as well as explain all of this to my family (although this part took me a long time :). Your words have supported me when the illnesses tried to kick me down. When I doubted myself. When I was spiraling into the what-if miasma. When I was remembering over and over something which had happened eons ago. When I was sad and didn’t know really why. Aren’t I always sad after all? I could hear you say that depression lied and I knew anxiety did too. And it was part of the simple but fundamental things I needed to come back to me and to the present. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Love and hugs from another human across the Atlantic ocean.
I was your record tech, want me to send you a video of it?
Hugs – I am SO PROUD of you. Am not going to continue, as other people have said things better than me, but thank you 😀
This needs to go viral. I’m sharing it here on my own blog, and on Facebook. I have a community of folks who suffer from depression and anxiety and who need to read these words. Thank you for speaking out!