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, Wil Wheaton.
Wil, thank you for this I listened to your episode of the Hilarious World of Depression recently, and my heart broke for you. I’m so glad you have Anne. I have followed your career since the TNG days. I was in my late teens and early twenties and coping with the most intense anxiety and depression I’d ever experienced at that time – a time when your accessibility via AIM and email, your writing on your blog, your first book all made a huge difference in my quality of life. Thank you for keeping on. Thank you for getting help. Thank you for speaking out. Thank you for being vulnerable.
Wil, I wept reading this – “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.”
Unfortunately for my son, that’s been me. Telling him over and over to “Stop it.” and telling him over and over how great his life is, and how I don’t understand why he sabotages himself. Wanting him to successfully navigate life so badly, without mind-numbing meds. We signed him up for Scouts and Karate, both of which he loves, but they aren’t some sort of magic solution for his anxiety, and there are still days where he just plain can’t handle leaving the house without a complete meltdown.
But thanks to reading this, I’m done nagging and pushing. I love him so very much, and I swear, I really just want to help him. And I realize now, that’s not going to happen with me dragging him out of the car and making him walk around the grocery store with me when he just wants to hide.
And if you ever had any doubts about sharing your story, Wil – think about 13 year old Ryan, smart as a whip, a clever and gifted little performer, skinny and awkward, trying to survive 7th grade. His Mom just had an epiphany from reading your story, and isn’t going to make him feel guilty anymore about feeling ways he can’t control. Maybe the hole you ripped in the fabric of space/time didn’t reach your adults, but it ended up reaching someone who sounds a lot like them…
Now, off to wipe off my own tears and apologize to my kid for being an asshole grownup.
I have had bipolar depression for most of my life, which was triggered when my dad died when I was ten. No one talked about it back then so I didn’t know till a lot later what was really wrong. I put myself in situations where I could have been hurt or killed because I literally did not care if I lived or died. I appreciate you sharing this.
Thank you. You can’t imagine how much this resonated with me. It filled me with both sadness and hope. I want all of us to get out of the dark room. I suffer from anxiety and depression and only just recently took the steps to get help with therapy and medication. I can’t really afford it, but I can’t afford to let my life pass me by either. Thank you for using your success and platform to be the voice of mental illness. Thank you for being so intimate with us about your lives, and thank you for giving me some hope that I won’t feel like this forever. I need to get better…
Hey You be Proud of your son, he has a great mom stranding by his side he’s very Lucky. I am a recovering addict and Im not ashamed and I’m a proud! Mom! Don’t ever be ashamed of your story because you could help so many, I’m judged and talked about behind my back with my story, however, I know for sure there are possibility thousands of people in my situation and that’s just in my small area of Biloxi, MS! There are so many but most are afraid to be judged or talked about or not liked or not welcome anymore but I’m not ashamed and so I write and I’m open and honest about my story because I hope to get through to those still hiding behind their masks and support them somehow without them actually having to come out for useful and helpful information on addition and support online too in which they can seek help from their home and not feel ashamed or judged. I hope you can follow my blog and I’ll follow and share your story to hewlp as many as wew can reach. I would so appreciate the support
Wow! You are an amazing grown-up for being open for an epiphany. Rock on! What a lucky son you have.
Thank you. I am one small voice living with depression. Thank you for using your voice and fame to shine a light on this illness. I, and many, many others, are grateful.
Thank you for your words. It’s so important!
That is an amazing story.
I wish that someone shared this with me when I was 14 yrs old… it could have changed my life. I’ve never heard anyone say, “we need to talk about it”. Only therapists talk about these things. I’ve been trying to keep a smile on my face for 54 years, and it’s been exhausting. My parents didn’t know what to do either, they thought I should go to summer camp so I would feel better. I’ve always had to deal with chronic depression on my own, you know, in survivor mode. Still, I keep it locked away in the vault. Sharing your pain with someone means you have to become vulnerable, and I’ve never been convinced that anyone cared enough to really listen, and really try to empathize. But how could anyone possibly know what I’ve gone through, what I continue to deal with, in waves, throughout my entire life. I just taught myself how to bury the pain and pretend like everything is wonderful. Sometimes, our pain is too precious to share. It’s too fragile, we’re too fragile, to share, to talk about it, to even think about it, and relive it when we try to talk about it. It’s scary. But after reading the remarks you prepared for your speech… I don’t feel scared, which makes me think that if you can talk about it, so can I. Where does one begin? Not another therapist, oh God no. I’ve gone through too much and often times I feel like they don’t understand, that “talk therapy” is just something we do to make ourselves feel like we’re actually getting help. I can’t do that anymore. I can’t talk to anyone unless they have personally experienced chronic depression. Otherwise, I feel like I’m “casting my pearls before swine”. I know that sounds harsh, and I’m not trying to bring insult or injury to therapists… the good ones do help a lot of people – just not me. I’m glad you shared your experience, and I’m thankful that my church pastor shared your story on his Facebook page tonight. Someday, I will find the right platform to share my story – it’s a doozey. Thank you Wil. Thank you for helping me realize that there are real people out there who genuinely know what it’s like to live with chronic depression.
I did not want to comment on this. Too afraid. A lot of my friends and colleagues read Wil’s blog. In fact, some of my closest friends I’ve met through WWDN. I just sent this email to my wife:
———
Sorry if I woke you. I was looking to d/l The Last Jedi and came across an awesome pic of Wil with Mark effing Hamill so I clicked, smiled, scrolled and got my ass kicked…
http://wilwheaton.net/2018/05/my-name-is-wil-wheaton-i-live-with-chronic-depression-and-i-am-not-ashamed/
Fuck me sideways. He’s saying everything I feel but have been too “strong” too admit.
I am 46 and sobbing in my hotel room. I’m told I’m so brilliant. Depression and anxiety are way smarter than I am. They thwart my every attempt to find just the slightest joy. There is no brilliance, only insecurity, disappointment, damaged friendships, lost opportunities.
I fear I will never reach my potential. I fear hurting our marriage because my heart is covered in scar tissue. I fear the inevitable family losses we all endure as we enter middle age. I fear that it will always be this hard.
I’m occupying an avatar. But who is driving? I’m surely not. I hit the life lotto and I know it. Wil has too and I think that guilt makes this worse. Ugh. The more money we have, the unhappier I become??
When I get back, let’s go to the doc and try something. I can FEEL time slipping by, tangibly, taunting me. “You’re wasting it…”
I don’t want to waste any more time. But I fear I’m not ready.
Please help me.
I love you.
Me. <3 (I express love the old-fashioned way: ASCII)
Thanks for sharing.
Thank you for posting this.
Hello, I want to thank you for posting this, it makes me feel better knowing that even celebrities suffer from depression.
I have suffered from depression, anxiety and PTSD for most of my life, all caused by 6 months worth of sexual abused when I was 5 years old as well as having a series of disabilties. Nothing like being informed that your abusers defense was; “well she’s barely human anyway,” even as such a small child I understood what that meant. Bare in mind that I have four disabilities but they are barely visible and don’t effect my intelligence (other than spelling… sorry for any errors in this comment)
It’s only now that I have two beautiful little girls that I have started to recover somewhat. It took 3 different therapists and a very loving and supportive partner for me to see that, all things considered I was doing okay. I have survived something that many people couldn’t have and even though I still have flashbacks, nightmares and days when I can barely function I carry on.
Quick word of caution to any rape survivors who want to have children: it has a good chance of bringing a lot of the feelings back and so does breastfeeding. I wouldn’t be without my daughters but I really wish that someone has warned me and got me the help I needed quicker. Then perhaps the postnatal depression wouldn’t have nearly killed us. Believe me: postnatal depression is a whole other beastie so get help if you even mildly suspect you might need it!
Though what also impacted the depressionwas that was the truely cruel person that told me that I Should get an abortion to save my baby from the shame of having a disabled mother. Glad I no longer work at that place. I’m so glad that I kept her, she’s my world, along with my younger daughter.
Anyway…. Sorry about spamming your blog with my tale of woe but I feel that we should share and help support each other. If we don’t then we end up listening to our inner demons and that is terrifying and just ends in a downwards spiral.
Thank you and I hope everyone does well and defeats that beast known as depression.
Sorry for posting this over 4 comments but it wouldn’t let me post it in larger chunks.
I just came to this realization last week after many years of suffering. I’m also 34. The what if’s and the obsessive behaviors, Everything you stated above except for the fame I went through.
I Have just now started taking Anti-depressants and getting my health back online. It’s a rough start for me but I am pushing through it to hopefully start feeling like I’m living again.
Hi Will,
I have always been a fan and I respect you even more now for your courage to share your feelings with us. I too, suffer from chronic depression and have been through panic attacks. Life is hard and we find ourselves alone most of the times, but finding so many wonderful people here who have been through the same issues as us, reminds me that we’re not alone. I think the secret is to cling onto something that helps us get through the day. I have my students who make me smile and it’s “my medication”. Nevertheless, it’s a never-ending struggle to keep our heads high and keep smiling. We all have to be strong…
Thank you so much for your words. As many others have mentioned, you could have been describing me. Thanks to a combination of EXCELLENT counseling and various medications, I’m still here and functioning.
But what you reminded me was that functioning isn’t enough. A life must be lived. I keep forgetting how bad my brain makes me feel about myself when I’m experiencing a more significant depressive episode. And your heavy blanket analogy was priceless. Thank you for sharing and, by letting yourself be seen, giving us permission, no a directive, to be seen too!
Thank you for sharing. ✌🏾
I always struggled with the same things. I went on a solo trip to Ireland which the journey getting there was the journey of freedom and conquering fear.
God delivered me from my depression and anxiety. I prayed for years and woke up one day different. While I still struggle with it, it no longer controls me. I understand the triggers and I understand when things start so I can pinpoint where it’s all coming from and cut it off.
I’m so sorry you struggle with it, but there is hope. Thank you for sharing your story and helping others know they’re not alone.
When I was reading this I realized something. I might have depression too. I’ve had this sadness that won’t go away. Thank you for sharing your story.
Thank you! This is exactly what I need to read right now and you have helped me understand myself and my kids. I’m going to seek help ASAP because of you! That’s all I have to say. Thank you!
This is great! Mental health is a vast array of different aspects and our society does not fully understand or has the knowledge of accepting a person with a mental health imbalance. Great read.
How many times did I nod, laugh, and tear up? Too many. Depression has touched my life and anxiety seems to hang around more then I’d like, but being transparent and vocal make such the difference. Thank you for sharing!
Amazing speech and comforting words. Going on 32 years of living and suffering with severe anxiety, generalized anxiety disorder and PTSD. The stigma needs to end. I hope some day soon people living with these mental illnesses can finally breathe in comfort in knowing there is nothing wrong with them and that they are no different than a diabetic who needs insulin. I struggle every day and am trying different meds, therapy and doing things I love like Painting art. I hope some day I will be able to notice the birds and the breeze and forget about the dark corners of my mind. You inspire me to keep trying. Thank you so much.
My name is Brian Clarke, I have lived with depression. It comes and goes… And I am not ashamed.
You may not feel brave but you are. You faced down the stigma of mental illness in the public eye and you’re not letting it claim you.
Thank you.
A while back I posted a comment here (go back and find it—under Eric S.). A bulleted list of items relating to mental health care based on one of Wil’s posts. It started me thinking, and became the genesis of what eventually would become this.
I’ve been in the mental health business for 30 years. Can’t believe it. But I’ve started a passion project. A YouTube channel to pass on what I know. The stuff that effects you and yet is entirely behind the curtain. The fact from the fad from the fiction. From bid to tid. Affective to effective. Schizophrenia to Schizotypal. Crisis stabilization to crisis calls.
You have no idea who the players really are. What gets done. What doesn’t.
Looking for people who want to join me. Total passion project.
And yes, Wil. There is much you must learn. 😉
https://youtu.be/3H_-auHsRN8
Thanks for sharing your story, Wil. I’m going to be seeing a psychiatrist next week, due to having lots of emotional breakdowns. I’ve been scared of what the doctor might say, but reading your story has helped boost my courage. Thanks again.
Me too. All my life. Almost same story except for the fame, and for fact that I drank until I was 47, functioning, but needing the alcohol. My father died suddenly when I was 22. Doctors gave me Valium, Miltown and Seconal….At 47 I stopped drinking on my own. By then full blown bipolar. Threw away all pills as AA told me and for five horrible years suffered the worst depression , agitation and anxiety ever. Had had 25 years of therapy at least too. Got right psychiatrist, have been sober 28 years this months, haven’t taken a narcotic in 28 years, despite multiple major surgeries, lost second husband after years of caregiving, but with proper medication the world is bright again for me. I speak out at all my AA meetings and others then open up about their depression and medication.
We must speak out, we must share.
Your post made me sob. No two people’s experiences with mental illness are identical, but I was so strongly able to connect with many of the things you shared. And that is one small thing that helps a little – being reminded that the worst moments are not just your own self beating you up. There is so much comfort in being able to recognize that others experience the same moments and are fighting to see the beauty in themselves and the world. Thank you for your work and for being so open. You are doing so much for all of us.
I so appreciate your blog…….i just starting having panic attacks a year ago…..horrible….my heart races….shaking….thought i was having a heart attack…4 times..almost fell riding the escalator to work….i remember my mom having these….i feel bad because i thought….she will be ok….its not good…i moved from the South to new jersey….so different…very fast…my dr. .gave me a different kind of blood pressure med…..hasnt helped…thk you for your input on this….crazy….thank for being brave ! You dont know it until you go through it….amen
I want to thank you for this. I have struggled all my life and I am so glad that you are doing this. I made a YouTube video explaining how I feel
https://youtu.be/cON9zLZ1nVg
Thank you for that, it was very hard to read and very eye-openning. I hope you enjoy the rest of your journey.
Thank you for your wonderful writing, acting and willingness to share your experience, strength and hope. I especially like your use of the word “delightful” to describe symptoms of depression and anxiety. My symptoms are like programmed ring tones that let me know I need to take care of myself or ask for help. One time I was sitting in a writing seminar, knowing my turn to read was coming up, my arm became numb and my chest became heavy. I knew I was going to have a heart attack except for women don’t usually have those symptoms so I laughed at myself until I could stutter out my humorous prose. I am also an actor and I get the feeling that people think I don’t know my lines when I do, but my sensitivity to something going on in the room makes me feel paranoid and I can’t say I’m bothered by it and everything snowballs until I not only have a funny feeling I am not like other people but that everyone else knows it and there goes the line. Lucky for me I am now a very good improviser and improvising has come back in style! The biggest thing medication has done for me is to help me accept myself and others as parts of humanity and not as cogs in a human racing machine.
The symptoms you describe sound suspiciously like a panic attack. Would you consider anxiety to haunt you?
Thank you for sharing your story. I can relate to a lot of what you wrote.
I have adhd, bipolar disorder and anxiety and I AM ashamed. I’m ashamed of things I have said and things I have done. Thoughts of these memories can be so present in my mind, that it feels that it has just happened.
I can’t take it back, and I find it difficult to explain that it wasn’t the real me who said or did “it”. This is another aspect of having a mental illness. It’s probably not forgiveness from other people that I need, but rather forgiveness from myself. 🙂
Thank you, Will, very much, for sharing your story, and using your influence and experience to help others. I am grateful for you.
I really wish more people were comfortable talking about depression and not making it seem like an odd thing. If it were more open and considered normal I think more people would seek advice. I think you are a wonderful actor.
What do you do when your Parent actually did cause it? I guess we don’t get to talk about it. Our Voice can’t be heard. I can’t encourage someone else. And what if meds don’t fix it? I have no story of hope.
I got nuthin’
Whitewave—There’s an interesting model of therapy that I want you to think about. It takes a constructivest (if that’s a word) point of view. That your perception of yourself, your past and your future are all narratives that change all tne time, over time. Stories that you play out like old film footage. Who you see yourself as now at this moment may be very different than who you saw yourself as a month ago. Or two months ago. Or two years ago. That “you” isn’t some set-in-stone figure. Like a granite bust of yourself that never changes. You are who you create yourself to be. And, consequently, you can be who you un-create yourself to be. Replacing stories about yourself that don’t work with stories that are functional can help. Just something to consider.
Thank you for sharing. I suffered mild depression 3 years ago. It triggered because my most loving brother died. I couldn’t stop thinking of him, our childhood memories and his face. He often appeared in my dreams. I cried and cried because I miss him and regret not to fulfill his last wish to eat yogurt.
I wasn’t noticed of that until I’ve attended a credited class. I chose counseling and that disclosed everything which I tried very hard to remain hidden among family and friends. The counselor figured that out and booked 3 sessions for me. Now, I’m completely fine. But, I worry that something else might trigger it again and eat me inside.
First of all, I am not writing as a Star Trek Fan, but as a fellow man also living with Chronic Depression.
As a read this article, I began slowly relating to your past history, and realizing that I DO HAVE Chronic Depression and never knew or was aware of it, mainly because I was not treated as I should have 35 years ago, and was led to believe that I was just neurological imbalanced and with just therapy and anti-depressants I eventually would be “near normal”. My siblings (and other relatives) thought I was being a drama queen and that I just needed to grow up.
Of course, I was never a normal kid, trying to fit in, and getting bullied instead. In my early twenty years I got into heavy drinking with my so-called “friends” in order to get accepted into their circle.
Eventually my drinking got worse until just recently, and now I’m a proud member of Alcoholic Anonymous for the past 3 years.
After finishing reading your testimony, I reluctantly had to admit that I also live (not suffer) with Chronic Depression and eventually will have to openly adimit it to my family, but not just yet, because if the stigma and prejudice mental illness has among my siblings.
So, I just wanted to say thank you for sharing your thoughts and experiences with Chronic Depression, and know that you are not alone in this crazy ride we share.
Best regards,
Joseph
Thank you for posting this. I am 61. I still feel my family of origin (siblings mostly) think of me as the “crazy” one. It still hurts. However, I know they are not at a place in life to see the whole picture, as I was most of my life too. I remember taking gabapentin for anxiety the first time. I had a similar response as you did when walking with your wife. I told my adult daughter, while on the phone from an in-patient psych facility, that Wow, my brain feels calm, not racing like it usually does. I am working on letting go of the shame that I have felt for most of my life. As I said, Thank you for posting this – it is very helpful to me with the shame. Namaste
Massive respect for you sir. I can truly relate. Good luck for the future and keep up the good work.
thank you for sharing your personal experience! No wonder a lot of people are following your blogs. Great article, indeed!
Thoroughly engaging, and honest. Wonderfully written with a great sense of satire!
Going through a difficult situation currently, this has reinforced my belief that its alright for me to not be okay for a minute! As long as it doesn’t beat me.
Thank you Wil Wheaton.
This speech I think is one of the only speeches I ever actually read thoroughly and throughly. Every single word resonated with me and I’m so appreciative that you have spoken out about this topic and your experiences. This in itself helps me feel a little less alone in this giant, scary world. I’m saving this speech and sharing it with my friends and family, to show them that they need to remove any stigma about mental illnesses and to learn the proper ways to address and deal with it.
I’m sorry that you went through what you went through, but what I like to say is that our past experiences have helped shape us into the person we are today. In that case, I hope they did for you. If you ever have a soeech or a convention in NYC, youbcan guarantee I’ll be there in the crowd, listening raptly.
Thank you for inspiring and connecting words. Its super hard to talk about our experiences with mental illness so I just want to say before ending this that your confidence and pride is inspiring and I hope one day to do exactly what you’re doing with whatever voice I have.
Again, thank you.
I love this I’ve been struggling with this off and on since childhood and for the past 11yrs and five months have been in a fog I’ve wasted my life, I feel hopeless helpless and that it’ll never go away. Thank you for coming forward.
Wil, you got me into treatment at age 40. It’s been 3 weeks and already it feels like I have a brand new life. Thank you.
“So, getting serious here for a minute. I wanted to post this earlier, then figured it was best not to, deciding that there was no real purpose. However, I feel like that is a bit of a cop out, allowing me to save face instead of just being honest. As for what I’m talking about – I was recently diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety.
You may be asking yourself why I decided to post this and what the point is, but I’ll start by telling you what I’m not after here. I’m not really looking for sympathy, nor am I looking for any specific help from any person or people. This isn’t a cry for help or anything of the sort. The purpose of this post is, primarily, to get some things off my chest and inform most people I know – as easily as possible – about what is going on in my head. It may seem a bit odd that I’m doing this, as I don’t really post anything, nor do I make much of an attempt to communicate things to large groups.
For those who don’t know, I began having semi-frequent panic attacks at the beginning of the year, almost always without an immediate cause. Once I figured out what it was, I realized that I had been dealing with them all my life, just in specific situations, and not so severely. Up until now, I had a hard time taking my own thoughts and feelings seriously, because I had what would be considered a good life. Times weren’t always great growing up, but I had family that loved and supported me, and most of the things I wanted. I had friends that cared about me. What was there to be unhappy about? Well, the past year or so had me taking a hard look at that line of thinking and the downward spiral that began in January finally forced my hand. I began going to therapy and have spent a ridiculous amount of time analyzing my own thoughts and behaviors.
Recently, I told a friend that it’s like there are two William’s living in my head. For those who have seen Dexter, you could say I have a Dark Passenger. I essentially have a nice side, and a…less than nice side. My nice side is the person I like to think of as the real me, the person I would like to be, the person I could be if the other side of me would just shut up. For the most part, I like helping people and being there for them. It’s not hard for me to see things from another person’s perspective and I often find myself playing devil’s advocate, trying to give other’s the benefit of the doubt whenever possible. I often don’t have bad intentions at heart, and so I try and assume others are not acting out of malice either.
Then there’s the other side of me. When my anxiety and depression take hold I become irritable and angry at everything. It has never been unusual for me to seclude myself in my room or away from other people. Some people understand that I’m a person that needs their space and who struggles with social interactions, while others have taken it as me disliking or being upset with them. In truth, it’s because it can be exhausting for me to interact when I’m not having a good day. Not only does it wear me down, but I snap, I say things I don’t like to say and I act like a person I don’t want to be. Often times, and especially when faced with conflict, it feels like my head is filling up until I can’t think anymore.
It can be extremely difficult to like myself when I constantly feel like I’m stuck outside my own body, watching myself become a villain. It’s hard for me to understand why the people that care about me do care, because I don’t seem to be able to see the good parts of myself that they can see. I often feel like a failure. Everyone has always seemed to have high hopes for me. My family always told me I was smart and talented, but it never feels that way to me. When I went to New York, I cracked under the pressure and was unable to stay. I never felt that I measured up to the other people around me – I was never as smart or as talented as they were. While I didn’t know how to put these feelings into words until today, they are feelings I have been living with for a while. The feelings of failure and shame are a bitter pill to swallow. More than that, I often feel like I’ve drug Sarah down with me, cutting off her choices and opportunities with my own choices and failures.
I’m sure many of you that read this will say I didn’t do anything to disappoint you, and I appreciate that. The reality is, even if I didn’t disappoint you, I disappointed myself. So, I would like to apologize to anyone that I may have hurt or upset in the past. Most of the people in my life deserve a lot better than I feel like I’m able to offer most of the time, and I’m working on that. I’m still the same person that hides in his room from the rest of the world, but hopefully I can change that, even a little, with professional help.
If you have stuck through and read this, thank you. Like I said, I just needed to get all of this off my chest. And for everyone who supported me through the years and dealt with me being a bit of a pain in the ass, thank you. I appreciate you all more than I let on, and much more than you think.”
That’s what I posted to Facebook last night after reading this. Thank you for putting this up, as it made me realize it was time to be honest and open about my own internal struggles.
I will admit, you’ve been a person I was always a bit jealous of, and I’m ashamed of myself for that. I tried and failed to get into acting due to my own problems and I’m now slowly working my way towards game design. You seemed to be someone who had very similar interests to me, and often portrayed a personality I could relate to, but you were able to get yourself somewhere while I sat here struggling.
But, you were struggling to. I was jealous of someone that was fighting the same battles and just doing a better job, and I didn’t realize it. Instead of jealousy, I just have respect for you now. Keep fighting the good fight, there are a lot of people supporting you.
inspirational
Before this speak I did not realize I’ve just been existing. My whole working memory my family has defined me as my mental illnesses, they have been labeled since the age of 13. I’m turning 32 soon and am still ashamed of what I have. My mom is finally starting to understand that they are illnesses not who I am but being berated most of my life left scars. It took me 30 years to seek help and have made substantial progress, even to the point of pursuing my graduate degree in Psychology. What I have is stigmatized greatly in media as sociopathic when it is not and varies extremely person to person. I don’t want to even type it but I will for others that won’t.
My name is Elyse. I have Borderline Personality Disorder. Major Depressive Disorder. General and Social Anxiety and PTSD. There is help, if I can change anybody can…Seriously.