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 so much for this.
Unfortunately it resonates loud and clear right now as I emerge from one massive and rapid relapse after 13 years of health and feel of the verge of imploding into an aftershock relapse and am trying to hold it together for the sake of my family.
All illnesses are hard and demanding on the body and spirit. But as a sufferer the thing I’ve noticed over the years is that mental poor health is complex because it is misunderstood, and because it manifests in feelings and behaviours that are not understood to be “normal”. But also I think people don’t appreciate that there’s no blood or other test to identify mental illness or to understand recovery and management. Instead getting well requires the patient themselves to identify and figure out the root causes of how they’ve become ill and how to defeat and manage it in a day to day and year to year basis ( or sometime hour to hour basis during moments of real distress). That figuring out process can be just as exhausting and depressing/stressful as the symptoms itself.
Thanks for speaking up.
My mother actually ‘fired’ her doctor, because he suggested she might be depressed. This was back in the ’70’s, and depression, or any kind of mental illness was taboo. Then, a year after my father died, she committed suicide.Denial of depression can, obviously, be deadly. I was 30, when I was diagnosed. I’d always thought my ‘sadness’ was something I could fix, and I read many self-help books, thinking if I solved one problem or another, I’d feel happier. While I was devastated learning I had an actual illness, out of my control, it was the beginning of a path to recovering. Many medications later, I can say that I’m not suffering every day, in the ways you described. Thank you for speaking out. Depression and anxiety seem to have proliferated in the last 40 years, but I don’t think that it’s become more prevalent, but it’s more often recognized and acknowledged as a real ‘thing’, instead of a weakness or laziness or a character defect. I still feel some shame, but I’m trying to move past it.
My dad sent this to me, and so much of it hit home.
Similarly to you, my life is good, by most measures. I have a wonderful family, a loving partner and a place to call home. Yet, I have so much anger and resentment towards myself. I have done for as long as I can remember. I constantly feel like a waste of space. I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety at the beginning of April. Even when people tell me I’m good at things, I never believe I’m good enough. While the determination to keep pushing myself has been rewarding in some ways, it’s been mostly damaging. To believe you are worthless, no matter what you accomplish, is a horrible way to live. It’s important to be able to see the merit in what you work hard to achieve.
Thankfully, since being diagnosed, I have began taking medication which has made a huge difference to my life. I know this isn’t for everyone and there are mixed reviews on medication, but I think the fog inside my head is starting to lift. It’s because of this that I’ve felt able to start writing a blog and share my writing publicly. I never could have dreamt of doing this before, so it proves to me that I really did need some help. Despite a lifelong love of writing and encouragement from other people, I couldn’t convince myself anybody would care what I had to say. I’m starting to realise that I could have been wrong.
To anyone who has been touched by or relates to Will’s story, or maybe even mine, please understand that you can and should seek help. It might be a slow, and at times uncomfortable, process, but you can make progress. I’m telling you as someone who is living proof. You have a world of possibilities inside you that are being masked by an illness. It doesn’t have to be that way.
Thank you for sharing your story, Will. I am positive that it will help many people. It’s vital we keep talking about these issues so as many people as possible can get the help they need.
Wil, I was lucky enough to be on a plane with from Phoenix to LA. I told you thank for all that you do. I hadn’t yet read this, but I have watched on Youtube talks that you have given where you have spoken of depression. I have been lucky enough to share my life with a woman who also lives with depression. Your words have created opportunities for us to talk and helped me to understand her in a deeper way. And I’ve used Tabletop as a gateway to get her to game a little. So THANK YOU again.
Today and yesterday have been bad days, but I’m fighting through it. I now have the way to express why I’ve been struggling a bit.
Not only am I being forced to exist, and not live, on a broken benefits system, but I’m being forced to justify that existence by a society and government that thinks I’m faking it. So I’m having to fight myself and everybody else.
I’ll be damned if I’m giving up though.
Never, never give up.
Society is so frightened of MI, their fear foments denial of its existence. It’s not just you.
Further, the bottom-liners love that the lack of empirical measurements which justify funding other programs, can be used to question the validity of funding MI programs.
Bottom-liners seem to be soulless.
Thank you. As a therapist, I SO appreciate you using your platform, visibility, and vulnerability to normalize mental health. Lives are being changed because of you.
Thanks Wil, for being transparent on this. We are both in the same boat. I have chronic depression and I fight everyday. I’m lucky to have found a balance of drugs and supplements that work for me. That doesn’t mean I don’t still have bad days. But now I know they are temporary and like riding a horse, once you fall off, you have to get back on, and find other solutions if necessary.
I’m currently living with depression, but not chronic depression. Your talk has helped me imagine how hard it must have been to live with chronic depression for decades. I hope that it has also proved cathartic for you.
I have been fighting depression and anxiety most of my life. I began taking medication 16 yrs ago when I realized that I did not want my then 2 yr old son to know THIS person…I wanted him to know ME. It was the best thing I ever did. Although I still struggle, I continue to fight this battle and share the message that YOU CAN LIVE with mental illness.
THANK YOU for sharing your story. ❤️
So much of this is true, especially sending years, decades, hiding depression because of embarrassment or trying to tough it out. That was me. Until I sought help. This is right on the money, Wil. Thank you.
You are brave for sharing your story. Mental illness is not an easy thing to talk about at all- thank you for talking. Reading this yesterday came right at a time when I needed it and it sounds like lots of people are talking about your presentation on social media so it touched them too.
My name is Cori. I live with Chronic depressions and I am not ashamed.
#WellnessWarrior
Wow very powerful. I think my husband and I were living the life you described minus being an actor. Just a chef and a nurse. I go with and support my husband. I as a spouse had to learn how to communicate with the man with bipolar Late in life he was diagnosed. I believe in therapy for all in a family. Well said Wil.
This is just mind blowing.
I remember watching Star Trek TNG and dreaming of being the kid on the enterprise. I have struggled all my life with the same affection and came to the same results. It’s just funny that me and my hero have the same fate/life. We have the life set on easy and yet we struggle.
Here is some info that really helped me that I would like to share with you :
A book that really summed up everything I really experienced, felt or struggled with is : “Complex PTSD, From Surviving to Thriving from Pete Walker”.
On the chemical front, there is http://www.maps.org/ and their research with mdma and depression. MDMA works just like anti-depressants. It’s getting it’s FDA approval. There is also research with depression and Ketamine being used to treat it. Take a look at TedTalk conferences for this subject.
While this is an amazingly important, amazing piece of writing, I feel like I need to add something. Wil was lucky, in that the first med he tried apparently helped tremendously. That doesn’t happen for everyone; I’m not sure it even happens for the majority of people. So, if you -do- try to get help, and the first med you try does not make you “better,” you are not a failure. If you spend years trying to find the right combination of meds, and nothing works, you are not a failure. If something works for a couple of years, and then stops working, and you have to continuously have a psychiatrist try tweaking with this med and that med and you are on a cocktail of six different things that have to be adjusted every couple of months, you are not a failure.
And you may -never- find something that gives you the type of relief most people would consider meaningful. This may be especially true if you endure childhood abuse and/or neglect, because your brain never developed right in the first place, and you never knew “normal” and have no “normal” to return to. You may need that cocktail of six different meds just to reach a level where you aren’t actively making a plan to kill yourself, and even then, you may -want- to die most days.
And for the friends of family of those “treatment-resistant” people: Please know they are doing the best they can. They aren’t “refusing” to get better; they aren’t “wallowing” in depression or anxiety or “self-pity.” They probably -believe- they are, even if you aren’t telling them you think that. They probably don’t understand why they are failing at yet another goal in their lives.
Please tell them it’s okay to be this way. Please tell them that, even if they are never “better,” even if they don’t feel full-on happiness or joy more than once a week for five minutes, you aren’t annoyed with -them-, or frustrated or angry at -them-, and if this is the best it gets, you still want them here.
And also, realize that there may not be anything you can do to make things better. Not in the “I fixed it!” kind of “better.” Humans want to fix things; we want to -do- things, we want to -act-. And sometimes there is no act that will help, and all it will do will wear you out to try. My shrink said something during one session that I’ve held onto in the years since he said it: He said he read an opinion that the purpose of therapy is not to suffer -less-, but the suffer -better-. So sometimes that’s all you can do: help the person you love suffer better. Be with them, no strings attached, no expectations, no trying to fix things. Tell them that yes, you hurt because they hurt, but you don’t hurt because of -them-.
Bev, I’m very glad glad you mentioned this. I have had repeated episodes of Major Depressive Order, probably since I was about 8, but not diagnosed until I was 17, and at that time the doctor who made the diagnosis was considered a bit of a quack because the field simply did not recognize depressive disorders of any type in children or teenagers. Unlike Will Wheaton, my parents were aware something was wrong and were very proactive in trying to find help for me.
Fast-forward 35 years, and my depression no longer responds at all to medication. Even during the times it did, it was relatively short-lived and I remained in a dysthymic state. Like finding the right medication(s) for you, finding a therapist who might prove helpful may take months or years. One is not a failure if this happens. This can be a tenacious, tricky, sneaky disease. Depression helped end my marriage, and has affected advancement in my career. Since medications no longer work to help control the disorder, I am hoping to start transcranial magnetic stimulation (MSN) treatments in a few weeks.
One just keeps pushing forward for as long as one can. When suicidal idealtion becomes almost overwhelming, I remind myself of Director John Waters’ comment, which many find abrasive, but somehow reached the part of me it needed to in which he says “suicide is the ultimate hissy fit.” Maybe someday I’ll have that hissy fit, but by nature I don’t like to draw attention to myself or inconvenience people. I still have one living parent, and I could never do that to them. I’ve seen what suicide does to close family survivors. So, somehow, I keep putting one foot in front of the other, or, on the days that’s not possible, at least waking up.
“Hi. My name is Mary Sayers. I live with chronic depression. And although there is still a lot of social stigma attached, I refuse to be ashamed, because otherwise that will never change.”
Thanks Will, for trying to help affect that change!
Excellent.
We also need to address how health insurance companies make it difficult to receive in-patient treatment when needed. This happened in my family. It took forever to get the approval. After 7 weeks of a 12 week program he was declared no longer in an acute situation and thus benefits were stopped. I had to finish the process of tweaking his medicine regime at home.
Sounds just like me. I see a psychiatrist and have GAD, PTSD and Major depression recurrent without psychotic features. It is very difficult to live with and at times the only work I can describe it is Anhendonia. Don’t know if I spelled it right but unfortunately people still believe we are defected in some way because of this. Thank you for sharing.
I had only read part of your speech previously and was moved by what you said. Reading all of it, thank you. Thank you for your honesty. May the light of acceptance and understanding you are helping to shine on mental illness be seen by all one day.
thank you for your brutally honest insight regarding anxiety and depression. i too suffer from these ailments and am a big proponent of therapy. and with our own experiences, we have been able to notice when our children are suffering
But what do you do when medication doesn’t work? I feel like I don’t have any options left
Anna, please tell us you’ve seen one or more therapists and started therapy. Medication alone rarely works.
I suffer from this and often feel very alone. I’ve tried putting myself out their to best the anxiety and depression by being involved in toast masters which is a great organization but when people don’t know your situation they may force you into something you don’t want to do or are not ready for. Since this happened I never returned. I’m taking and still having medication adjusted, itil helps some. I suffer from a back injury from working in oil and gas which is diabilitating. I recently beat thyroid cancer and take medication for this now.
I breifly met Wil at comic expo Calgary and when I made eye contact with him could see his pain. Mind you he was swarmed by 1000’s of people. Glad to have met him, had a photo. He’s an inspiration to me, and a great actor.
I could use a friend on occasion to just talk things out and be lifted out if the dark places my mind goes. The best thing I find is staying active but it’s better meeting new people and sharing experiences while doing this. I can only sit for so long.
Cheers,
Brent
My wife shared this with me this morning and I read it at my desk at work and wanted to cry because so many of your experiences mirrored what I went through growing up in a Latino household where men are expected to be strong and show hardly any weakness. I just started my medication 2 weeks ago and already I am noticing a significant change in my daily life, for the better. Initially I was scared to take it because I also thought I would be different, a zombie of sorts. I thought my acting work would suffer because it would take away my highs and lows of emotion needed for the work. But right now, my priority is to get on the road to recovery so I can be there completely with my wife and soon to be born daughter. THANK YOU for sharing your story. I am Christian Castro, I live with chronic depression and I am not ashamed.
Thank you Wil for speaking out. People think that since I am on meds I should be fine all the time. I have days I can’t leave my house. Or I have a panic attack and try to hide it. My mom doesn’t believe in depression – I am a Christian – I must not have enough faith in God or I wouldn’t have this. When I am at the bottom I still go see my therapist. Thank you for writing this. People just don’t understand.
Thank you for sharing your story. I have also lived with anxiety for 30 years until I finally had enough. Reading your story was hard because I could relate to all the times that you missed out of life because of your anxiety. I’m so glad that you found the help you needed and you are helping so many more people in the process. On a side note, you rock in Big Bang Theory!
I. Love. This. 💗
My little sister had anxiety attacks that affected her ability to work as an RN. Many years after the fact, she told me she had been bullied in high school but I cannot fathom why. She said it was because she acted weird. She had PTSD from when she was attacked in an attempted murder. She suffered from depression for years and took meds for it. She loved Jesus and encouraged others with kind words and scriptures. She wrote in her journal a hundred times that she was sorry and ashamed of the way she treated those she loved the most. She had good days and bad days. She was mentally ILL. She did the best she could, and I am not ashamed of who she was. I miss her.
Thank you
It is inspiring to read anyone’s story, about finding their inner light again. We, ALL, have the potential to fade into a colorless background, fall into a pit, wander aimlessly after getting lost in a black void, and feel so alone that your very skeleton has given up the ghost. Some of us do have the propensities, yes, but mental illness knows no bounds. “It” can have no mercy, follows no ones timelines, and unfortunately the very words have been given a face, a stigma, that will never stop.
I fight “it” every day. I hide “it”, run from “it”, try to mask “it”. But, nope. “It” clings worse than the best plastic wrap. (((Sigh))) There are no smoke and mirrors. “It” will always be my new best friend, each and every day I arise. Challenge accepted, or not.
NOT to make light of depression in any way, but I honestly thought the title was going to be, My Name is Wil Wheaton and I live behind long blades of grass and I am not afraid to admit it.
Thank you for sharing your thoughtful speech. I have chronic severe depression/anxiety and have been treated with medications for 25 years (I am 65 now). I appreciated very much your optimism regarding remission (as I call it), and loved the dental X-ray blanket analogy.
Your perspective about not being able to talk about it was of course an important aspect of the problem. But for a non-celebrity and a now retired person, I find that most people really don’t want to hear about it. Sometimes they’re interested when I talk about my near-suicide experience 4 years ago, but it feels to me more like morbid curiosity.
I hope you have many opportunities to speak publically about your experience, and if you do, I have one request: please include information about depression as a lifelong medical issue, that even when treated it may (make that “will”) return. Medications lose effectiveness over time, counseling and things like DBT work for awhile, etc. Since initiation of activity is a chronic roadblock with the condition, people may not seek help.
Thank you Wil.
For anyone unfamiliar with Grace Vanderwaal, I would suggest watching these three videos that are remarkable in their depth regarding the throes of depsression and how to face it. Listen to the lyrics closely, or find a video that includes them
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZcCp7488puc
Thank you. I grew up watching you as my family are huge followers of scifi. I’ve learned to embrace the insanity that is me and to stand up for myself even in my own darkest times and folks like you in the spot light remind me that i am not alone.
Thank you for sharing, so many people can relate. I trule hope someone will be inspired by your story. I wish you all the best!
I have been dealing with depression for the past few years as well but last month is when it got really serious. I know I am suffering and I am in pain and I am hurt but still I don’t want to get out of it. I want to fight it because me being depressed is hurting people around me but fighting depression is so tiresome and it is making me weaker day by day..
This is my story https://mireya2199571274.wordpress.com/2018/05/08/the-journey-begins/
If anyone out there is struggling with depression, personal loss, please read my blog. I would really like to connect with people who are going through the same thing as mine. This will not solve anything but hopefully will reduce the pain
This is my story https://mireya2199571274.wordpress.com/2018/05/08/the-journey-begins/
Wheeaattooonnn! Sorry my one of my fave Sheldon Cooper quote haha.
Well done for this. Depression needs to lose it’s stigma, anyone, and everyone can get depression, and it doesn’t make you abnormal. But its also worth noting depression has levels, most people will only ever get as high as 5(a death for example), where as people with chronic depression can hit level 10(cant get out of bed, eat etc) very easily, and over something quite simple.
I am speaking from my own experiences here
I am not someone who lives with mental illness, but because of resources and stories such as yours, I have been able to develop a third eye in identifying and having compassion for others. I think a resource like this helps those like me, see truth in a situation that is often painted in a shaming light. I went to the funeral of a man who took his life. The man’s sisters were present. I noticed that of the three sisters, one looked like her brother’s death took a heavier toll on her. I know you can’t compare, but I am trying to explain what I saw through my feelings. I asked the sister if she was alright and she responded by saying that she also lives with mental illness. I think a lot of people would be blind to this, with their hearts closed, because of stigma or ignorance or whatever have you. But the point is, we can awaken our senses as humans to better read those who need help in the struggle and fight if we listen and ask and support and understand. Thank you for sharing your story with me.
I have Chronic depression with anxiety and PTSD. Your story has been my life for 25 yrs. Thank you for letting me know I’m not alone.
As a parent of a newly diagnosed and medicated teen (mostly anxiety) I thank you for this. I am trying to understand her disease and it is very hard to get my head around. I just want the best for her and for her to be able to go off to college and live a productive happy life. I feel very lost in trying to understand how to support her though. I can’t tell how much I shoudl talk or not talk to her about it. She has me leave the room when she talks to her doctors which is fine, but just leave me not knowing what she needs. So – this was helpful to hear your experience.
Thank you. As someone who also suffers with a mental illness, it’s really nice to see someone share their story who I’ve always admired.
Hi, Wil! Welcome to the group! I’m Phillip and I’ve lived with both major depressive disorder and persistent depressive disorder for far far longer than anyone ever should or that it required by the diagnostic criteria. There are drinks and snacks on the table. Please help yourself.
Oh, and, nobody cares. I just want to make sure we are setting our expectations correctly. Nobody cares. Not really. That isn’t meant to be negative. They’re just completely incapable. And you can’t make them or show them how to care. All you can do is learn to become okay with your worst fear being an inescapable reality without killing yourself or someone else.
Again, welcome. And don’t forget to grab a drink and snacks.
Wish I could reach through here and give you a ginormous hug!!!
Thank you Will. That was enlightening & helpful for me.
This hurts to read so much because I know how much this is true.
I am currently going through divorce with my spouse of 10 years because she refused to see that she needed help. Her mental illness started causing anxiety and panic attacks in me as I never knew who I was dealing with when she was going to walk through the door. Everything was so broken that her refusal to be anything other than a victim was endangering my own mental health and the well-being of our daughter. I still struggle some days with bearing the load of being a single father, but myself and my daughter are so much happier overall it’s night and day.
It still is difficult dealing with her sometimes, and people wonder how I can keep my calm when she blows up at me for minor stresses I have no involvement in. I just remind them that this is someone who isn’t well, and that while I hope she gets the treatment she needs, it can no longer be my responsibility to take care of or “fix” her.
Please, to all who are suffering, seek help. It’s not just you that your illness effects, it’s your family as well who want your happiness more than anything else in the world.
And to Anne, you are a superheroine for being able to stand by your husbands side and help him through his darkest periods. I am in awe of you.
That was a wonderful explanation, and inspiring. But, in my case, the lead blanket has engulfed me, and won’t let go. I have the power and energy of 0. I should have been seen by a doctor as a child. In my 20’s, I TRIED to talk to my doctor about it. He diagnosed me as “lazy”. I even had a Doctor tell me I had the “Chicken Little Syndrome”. Now, I’m 55. Married, one adult daughter who I adopted when she was 5. 4 Grandchildren, and one on the way. I’m very overprotective of everyone. My life feels done, and I’m just waiting….
Please read comment from Bev, May 10, 5AM. Best thoughts to you for your health and well-being.
What happens when it doesn’t get better? When you reach out for help and you end up being too sick for the person who helps people for a living to put up with anymore?
you keep looking for someone to help. I’ve been there and I’ve “fired” those healthcare professionals that saw me as a checklist or more paperwork.
Hey Wil, thanks for sharing this. Several of my family members suffer from the same illness. They have all gotten treatment and are benefitting now but there were SEVERAL years there when my wife and I had no clue about what to do. I will share your post to help spread the message. Thanks again! Also, a big fan of your work.
Wil, thank you so much for this article. Sure, I’ve recognized so many of these things (symptoms) over the years but didn’t quite make the connection between depression and impostor syndrome. Why? I have not clue. Seems rather obvious now. Whether they are manifestations of the same thing (depression) but just on a spectrum, or if they are two separate things that feed off of each other doesn’t quite matter. What does matter is seeing that they are connected some how.
Please stop telling people there is a stigma to mental illnesses. Doing so has caused enough damage.
You mentioned you weren’t religious but you “Thank God”. I found that resonated with me. Because I am about as religious as can be. I was a pastor for 20 years and suffered with Depression. In the darkness it is easy to forget to thank God. As antithetical as can be, one would think a Christian should never be depressed. Religion has been a force for good in many lives: May even ameliorate depression to some degree. But sometimes depression is a black hole that rips us apart and takes away all hope there will ever be an escape. Perhaps here I may remind your religious viewers that it is written that Jesus was a man of sorrows. So it is ok to identify with Him in the bowels of depression. Yet He is the light of the world. He is the source of illumination for scientists to discover these wonderful meds that have given hope to millions. So it needn’t be a decision between faith and meds. They are not in antithesis to each other.
Forgive me if I have come across like a know it all. Always I have the downward pull. Downward to the darkness. But maybe for some I can cast a ray of light. I never know I can survive tomorrow. But for this moment I have hung on thus far.
Thank you for this. At nearly 50, I didn’t think there was anyone who would understand what I was going through. To tell the truth, I could see something was wrong when I followed you in the stories and magazines when I was younger. It’s good to see that you’ve found what peace was available to you. I hope your story reaches those of our generation who still think that it’s a bad thing to talk about.
Thanks wil.