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.
Thank you for sharing your story Wil. I have 3 daughters who all live with mental illness. They have S.A.D. Social Anxiety Disorder. We have been to doctors and councillors and therapists and psychiatrists and and and…….. They were all bullied in school not just by other students but by the adults who were supposed to protect them. All 3 are part of the LGBTQ community. They have amazing friends who support them and our family does to. My youngest is on meds for the depression. Meds have been upped once but in the next few months will need to be upped again I think.
Having someone to talk to has been a God send for all my girls. They try not to let their illness define them but there are many times that it gets in the way. They have also learned coping skills to help get them thru an atttack.
One step at a time.
One day at a time.
One breathe at a time.
We move forward, upward and onward.
Thank you for sharing this, truly.
Hi wil, I have depression and everytime I talk about it I tear up. I don’t have panic attacks like u do, but I do have breakdowns every now and then. I did try suicide once by taking an overdose on acutane. It was right after school and I there was nothing going on in my head, I wasn’t thinking about anything, but my body went straight towards the kitchen and I took the pills. I haven’t told my family about any of this because we did go to the doctors once, but they have forgotten about it. They always seem to forget about everything about me, but never about my brothers. I feel like I am forgotten in the family and treated like I’m just washed up and nobody cares about me. I do suffer with anxiety too, I see everyone looking pretty and feel like no one loves me. I am too afraid to love because I am too afraid to have my heart broken. Everybody seems to go for the pretty girls who have a cake full of makeup on and all the stylish clothes, when I have just comfy clothes. I am always judging myself too every single second I am living, I seem to “forget” about it when I am with my friends but not with my family. It has been getting worse because I wasn’t thinking about suicide until maybe last month. I am thinking about taking depression pills, but I can’t take any other pill with acutane and I feel like I will try to overdose again, even while I am writing this I feel like overdosing again. I have told someone before that was close to me, but they seem to turn it on themselves. They seem to go like, “oh ya I have that too,” then just go on talking about it and I can’t even get a word in. Everybody today treats depression like a joke, like oh ya I have that too and that’s totally me, they even think they have it when they really don’t. They think that there depression is way worse than mine when the only thing that they think that they have depression is that they don’t like people. If I ask them if the symptoms, they go like “ya I do have that,” when they really don’t. I feel like there is no one to talk to about this. I don’t like talking to therapist because I don’t trust them at all. I don’t like sharing information about this to someone I don’t know. Reading your article, made me relaize that there are people out there that have depression too and don’t fake it like people today. I have opened up more than I would’ve liked too, but I feel like I can trust you with this information. One more thing, I am a writer too. My guidance counselor says that I have a gift for writing. I wrote this poem, that I copied from a book that I wrote which I only wrote one page so far, about my depression in English class and I got sent to the guidance counselor later in the day. I played it off like I wrote a book, which I did, and just copied it off from my book because I was too lazy. Nobody knows about my depression, My Mom knows a little bit like 10% of it I guess, you are the only one thT I have told about this.
Sophie, you are not alone in this fight. Please try amd talk to someone, a fried or failing that a doctor, and don’t be afraid of asking for help. That first step can be a biggie, can be scary, but go ahead and do it anyway.
You are worth it, I promise.
*friend
Dear Sofia, your words are heartbreaking. Yes people will “identify” with what you say, and that doesn’t help because what we all need is to feel that we are “heard” – that someone cares and tries to understand. Those of us with depression look upon ourselves with disdain, we are tired, like Will Wheaton says, it’s like that lead-thing that the dentist puts on you for Xrays. We want to lay down, close our eyes, shut out the pain. Instead, please find ways to be gentle with yourself. And may I say? High school is this sucky place where everyone judges you, and many (many!) people feel like shit about themselves because everyone’s squished together, comparing clothes & hair & bodies. When we have trauma in childhood, whether it’s mental illness or certain abuse, what matters is the positive experiences that come later. And they will. I promise. You’ll exit H.S. and find jobs and freedom and friends. All I can do is send a virtual hug, and tell you, like WW, that it can get better. Mindfulness is a powerful tool, some say it works as well as meds, I’m not sure it’s just what I read. Mindfulness can teach us to focus on positive, to focus on right now, to shut out the racing thoughts that consume our very tired brains. One day at a time, the future is out there, and it really can get better. We must believe that, right? xo
Sofia, you are beautiful, you are talented and you are loved. I know I’m a stranger and it sounds stupid. I know you probably won’t believe me but it’s ok. I remember what it was like. Still is sometimes. Have you tried helpline centers? Joining a forum? Writing a journal (online or offline)? Read about therapeutic “homework”? Anything that can help you express and sort out your feelings, and know more about your illness and how it affects your judgment and your brain chemistry. If talking to a stranger makes you uncomfortable don’t hesitate to ask them about confidentiality and anonymity first. Admit you’re uncomfortable and don’t trust them yet. Good therapists will know how to deal with this because this is perfectly normal. Going to a therapist for the first time (and several times after that!) was one of the scariest I did and I bet I’m way older than you are. But it’s ok not being ready for it too. No pressure. You’re beautiful, you’re talented and you’re loved.
I can never thank you enough for sharing this. Many of the things you describe my daughter does and now i realize she is suffering from this and i can get her help
As I am reading, I know that it’s getting worst and I need to do something for my children. Tried trintellix and the side affects made me feel bad. I feel worthless no joy or excitement a sadness. The only thing I want to do is be close to my son. Would like to be alone but currently not posible. Thank you it came to me perfect timing.
thank you, Wil, to share your story. <3 I got mine too, and I’ve been struggling for years now. I don’t seek for professional help yet, but this year I’m trying to accept and live with it, and not let it control myself.
Thanks for being made up entirely of awesome Wil. Everything I know about you is terrific and the world is a better place with more of you. Hope to see you soon on the interwebs, the small screen or on the stage.
Excellent, just excellent!
Thank you for sharing Wil.
“I began to develop obsessive behaviors..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….”
The media does a horrible job of covering OCD and making it all about obsessive order and being clean, when it actually takes many forms. It might be worth mentioning for some readers that the “obsessive behaviors” you describe are actually classic examples of OCD (and OCD consider by most experts to be a form of anxiety disorder). I mention this because many people suffer from OCD without knowing it’s OCD. If someone is reading this article and has these types of thoughts and behaviors (or countless others), I recommend seeking out a therapist who specializes in OCD.
Thanks for this Wil. I have been living with the same thing all my life
I understand your feelings. I was in my 50’s reading a booklet on panic / anxiety disorfer / depression at work at Sheppard Pratt when I realized what was what was wrong with me from a child on up through adulthood. I talked to one of the doctors at Sheppard and went to my PCP with the suggestion of putting me on Celexa. Now I can do things without the panic I experiened as a child. My fears and horrible feelings from it are gone.
My son is Schizoaffective and Bipolar. He has been on every med out there and still has delusions and voices going on. 2 Psychiatrists at Sheppard Pratt said he needed deep Cognitive Therapy. His Disability insurance does not cover the amount of therapy he would need, so he suffers with this everyday of his life. It is heart wrenching to watch your child go thru this. He has lost lots of family and friends because of stigma. Stigma is as bad as having the illness that cannot be controlled.
All he ever wanted in life was to work every day and come home to his wife and children. All his dreams are gone forever.
Thanks for writing Wil. I’m another who thanks a plane while boarding. I also fell in in love with disc golf.
Thanks for sharing your story Will. I’m sorry that you had to suffer for so long, but applaud your work to destigmatise mental illness- definitely one of the strongest barriers to people seeking help and reaching out to loved ones for support, after a lack of affordable mental health care services. Things are very slowly improving here in Australia, we do have a public health system that provides some mental health resources, more than the US. But there’s always room for improvement.
I live with a “functional” level of anxiety that develops into depression at certain times of life….like right now. I am 45 years old and was first diagnosed with clinical depression when I was 22 years old, and I have been through active episodes at different times of my life. But with that help-seeking experience, and recovery following active bouts, I know very well what I need to do. Sometimes I just need to remind myself to do it!
Keep up the great work. Yours in solidarity.
The fact that you’re able to tell your story to the world and be open is inspirational itself. Wow
Thank you for writing this much needed thing 🙂 <3
Thanks for sharing this, you’re an inspiration 😢
Hey,
Thanks for an insightful and well detailed post.
So well written and inspiring – thank you Will Wheaton. If you are reading this in or around Cambridgeshire in the U.K., don’t let a lack of funds be yet another barrier to getting help. Cambridgeshire Consultancy in Counselling is a charity which subsidises talking therapies. http://www.cambridgeshirecounselling.org.uk
Wil thanks a ton for sharing your experience. Your experience will give wings to other people who are facing same problems in their life. Acceptance of your weakness is a great treasure and I hope everyone learns it like you did! Thanks once again for the great inspiration
While I appreciate your sharing all the ‘hope’ their is for people such as us, living with chronic depression/anxiety, I truly cannot see the reason for you numerous times, that you are ‘rich and famous’. What purpose does ‘that’, really serve – in light of subject itself? I am being sincere in my question to you. Thanks.
I felt like the use of that image was to really drive home that, no matter what someone’s life looks like from the outside, we struggle on the inside. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard someone dismiss the struggles of a wealthy or famous person, sipmly because they are wealthy or famous. Or how many other people I’ve heard say “If I only had (insert almost anything here, but frequently money or fame), I’d be fine.” Or “If I had the resource/power/position/life, etc, of so-and-so, everything would be different.” None of these perspectives are based in truth. Depression and anxiety can affect anyone in any life circumstance.
I live with anxiety & depression. But I’m still stuck in the fog… The way I’ve tried to describe it to people who don’t understand is that I feel like everyone is in a bubble. Inside the bubble, they’re protected from the horrors of life. They’re together, happy, loved, and completely oblivious to the horrors that exist outside the bubble. I, and others with depression & anxiety, are just out of reach. Outside the bubble, we are alone. We yell and scream for help, but no one can hear us. Out here, we see everything. We see every possible outcome of any given situation which leads to our demise or the death of our loved ones. Out here, we are forced to watch, with great detail, all the ways in which our children will surely die from any number of mundane play activities. We’re forced to know that they won’t survive playing on a swingset without falling & breaking their neck, eating foods without choking to death, riding a bike without being hit by a car, etc etc.. It’s maddening & completely impossible to escape.
I, too, didn’t get help until my 30s. Actually, I believe I was exactly 34 years old when I got my first prescription. I’m now 36 and still struggling to find the right medicine and dose. But the most amazing thing is that first peak of real actual life. It’s so crazy to realize just how bad you really were, when the medication begins to work. To suddenly feel happy and to know that you’re kids will be fine. To be able to actually enjoy hobbies you love. To know that getting up to do the dishes or the laundry is actually a simple task which requires very little energy & effort, unlike the daunting dread you used to feel or just being completely overwhelmed by small tasks as if they’re way too big to handle.
Anyway.
I’ve been a fan of yours for years, decades actually. And although I’ve always enjoyed your work immensely (movies, tv, novels, & all), I’ve never really been able to relate to you on a personal level until this post.
Thank you so much for sharing. It’s a great burden to feel so alone for so many years. And with you and others like you, it’s a relief to know that you’re actually not alone in your feelings and internal struggles.
Just another reason for me to fangirl at you, I guess. 😁
You are so brave! It takes courage to publicy expresss as you have and so beautifully. Thank you for sharing snd reminding those that you are never alone ❤️❤️💋
I don’t know about your struggles. I guess I’m in medical field enough to know how awful it is. I was on my own when I was struggling with it. When a doctor gave me the anti depressant, I have decided not to take it. I have concluded then that without God and his salvation we can’t really do anything. Somehow our own wisdom and understanding will help. At least for awhile. On our own we will keep telling ourselves that yeah we have chronic depression, but that is not we are supposed to live. God’s plan for us all is to have an abundant life, until it overflows but too many people are prideful to receive that truth. And so a lot of people live in quiet desperation. My life isn’t perfect. And I have days when I see people around me winning while it seems I’m in the pit I can’t get off. But I guess I have founded my identity in a rock that is higher than I. I will never give up And I will keep telling myself that God is good. I am free. And I have enough courage to say that though I am weak, I am strong in Christ. So I pray that people will come to know God in a deeper sense. And find healing and freedom, because it is yours to take. God bless you all ❤️
You can believe in God and take anti-depressants. The two aren’t mutually exclusive. If you continue to suffer in this way, this is on you, not on God. That doctor, giving you an anti-depressant was God throwing you a lifeline and you slapped away his hand.
Agreed, that was such a sad post from her. Rejecting getting help for depression, whether in the form of therapy or medicine because of “shame/only weak people get help for depression” or “medication is bad and I need to do this myself” or “it’s against God” are all similar forms of stigma/ignorance that cause people continue to suffer.
Yes it was very sad. Such denial. She will continue to suffer and blame herself for not being worthy of God’s blessings or mercy. That in itself is part of the illness. I hope she can see the light soon before it’s too late.
Just wow…
Thank you for those very inspirational words! I wish many more people could see it like you do!
Amazing. Thanks For Sharing this great information.
Thankful for you honesty. Hubby suffers Chronic Depression and you helped him have a really deep conversation with his Psychiatrist, which we are hopeful will assist him in finally moving forward.
This is beautiful. Thank you.
Congratulations Wil. I love your statement about walking with your wife and crying because you suddenly realized you were living life. Sometimes it takes the everyday, small things to wake us up. For me i woke up to the stress in my life and decided to do something about it by shedding a few people that were dragging me down. You are strong. You are blessed to have a wonderful family with you. Peace and happiness to you
Thank you for this. It’s really good to read your description as a way for me to be aware of ways mental illness can look. As a mom, this is really valuable to me.
I’ve just read your speech on depression and anxiety. Thank you so much. You are not afraid to speak up about your illness. This encouraged me to do likewise. Some people backed away – proof that they were not real friends. Others were concerned, and happy to talk to me about it, and ask if there is anything that they can do to help. Like you, my illness has never really gone away, but I have learned to spot the clues as to when I am getting low. More importantly, my friends and family know the clues too, and aren’t afraid to tell me if they think that I may be getting ill. None of this would be possible without you. You have used your fame well, to help others. More power and fame to you.
Love to you and Anne
KittyB
Revealing parts of one’s life where there are difficulties is never easy, so thank you for this wonderfully written and intimate look at your life which is sure to cause someone to go get help who wasn’t committed to it before hand. It is an epidemic in this modern age that is rarely discussed though everyone knows someone who is affected by it whether they realize it or not. Depression and Anxiety rob us of our lives so we stay inside (making it worse) and don’t go out and engage in the activities that make our lives richer. So thanks again for reaching out with this story and letting people know there is hope for them to feel better.
Thanks Wil. I think you ARE very brave.
A few years back during a bad breakup, I finally hit rock bottom and dragged myself into therapy. I was convinced it wouldn’t work. But amazingly, it did! I began to feel better. During that process though, a lot of grief came out and I had many moments like the ones you described. I would be driving along, see a pretty sunset, and pretty soon there would be tears in my eyes! It was shocking but also really beautiful! I’m still amazed at just how much better life is now that I’m not carrying around so much extra baggage. That weighted blanket really wasn’t working so great for me.
I sincerely hope that others can seek out and receive the care that they need. May we live in a better world tomorrow so that others don’t have to suffer in silence! 🙂
Thank you. Well said. What you are saying and doing is time well spent. I hope it saves more lives and opens closed minds. Depression is a killer among us, a real life condition that begs the question, “what happened to this child?”, rather than throwing away the key and locking them up forever.
There appears to be an issue with this post. It is only letting me “Like” it once. Must remedy that because this deserves more than a simple “Click-Like” from me.
I think it is time I write my own story when it comes to my anxiety and depression. For the most part I have made my blog a private/light place to spew randomness outside of FaceBookLand. Keeping it light and not so serious. Time to change that and tell some real stories about myself.
Thank you so much for this. I’ve struggled with bipolar disorder and severe depression since I was a kid. Much love, and lots of luck to you on your journey.
This speech is perfection. Thank God for you and Anne.
Wil, Exactly! One critical area that I now know effects my mental status is my environment. If you haven’t already, please examine your indoor air quality. Air contaminants such as mold, chemicals, etc. are the underlying cause for mental illness in generations of my family. As such, no pill will ever fix the problem. Cleaning the air, however, does. I can be available if you ever want to learn more. For me and my family, this information has been lifesaving. Peace & Love! Matt
Thank you so much for writing about your anxiety and depression. Of course it made me tear up as I completely identify. It is so important to get the word out. Thank you Wil.
Depression is one of those things that unless you suffer from it, you can’t truly relate to it. I’ve come across an amazing individual who has found a way to get through and deal with his depression. I’ve included their story in both written/video form.
Also, NAMI is an amazing organization and if you have a chapter/branch in your town, please support them!
You would never call yourself one, but you are a hero; to me certainly, and unquestionably to countless others. My name is Jim and I have bi-polar type II disorder. I have spent my life suffering silently in shame. I am still afraid to step up and publically speak out so courageously as you have. Perhaps your courage (and you a well known celebrity) to speak publically will be the catalyst this work-a-day nobody needs to finally speak out. Thank you. You may mot be a religious man, but that hasnt stopped God from using you as a gift for many.
Thanks for writing this post Wil. As someone who still silently suffers in a lot of ways, reading this post really made me realize I’m not completely alone.
Love you, Wil. I don’t comment as much as I used to here, but I’ve read your blog for years and years and treasure your willingness to be honest and vulnerable with us. Thanks for being you.
Thank you so much for sharing this with us Wil. Your words are inspiring, comforting and uplifting!
I was sent a link to your article by my step mom who obviously knew it would be helpful. My son is 11 and he is going through a very similar thing. He’s a bright, beautiful boy but has always struggled a little with anxiety. Something I thought was just a quirk of his until halfway through the school year he told his school guidance counselor he wanted to hang himself. He started having extreme panic attacks at night and was terrified to go to sleep. We ended up in the child psychiatric unit for a week on a locked ward. This was the scariest week of my life. As a parent I never imagined this kind of issue with my child. It’s like, as you say, something that happens to other people, other families. Thank you for speaking out. We are dealing with medication, insomnia, separation anxiety.
Thank you for reminding us we are not alone. Even with the medication sometimes things break through.
Thank you for writing. I am 47 and am still trying to do the little things to help with my lifetime of depression. Your words made me cry as I can really relate…they also gave me hope that someday, my blanket will be lifted
WOW! An eye opener about chronic depression. Thank you Wil for baring your soul.
God bless you for talking about this, Wil. I bet you have helped many folks today.
Thank you so much for sharing your story. As a long time fan who also lives with depression and anxiety this was a difficult, powerful and very touching read. Thank you for having the courage to stand up and speak, you kick ass on so many levels, you are an inspiration!