My name is Wil Wheaton. I live with chronic Depression, and I am not ashamed.

Posted on By Wil

I’m about to go speak to NAMI Ohio’s statewide conference, Fulfilling the Promise. These are the remarks I prepared for my speech.

Before I begin, I want to warn you that this talk touches on many triggering subjects, including self-harm and suicide. I also want you to know that I’m speaking from my personal experience, and that if you or someone you know may be living with mental illness, please talk to a licensed and qualified medical professional, because I am not a doctor.

Okay, let’s do this.

Hi, I’m Wil Wheaton. I’m 45 years-old, I have a wonderful wife, two adult children who make me proud every day, and a daughter in-law who I love like she’s my own child. I work on the most popular comedy series in the world, I’ve been a New York Times Number One Bestselling Audiobook narrator, I have run out of space in my office for the awards I’ve received for my work, and as a white, heterosexual, cisgender man in America, I live life on the lowest difficulty setting – with the Celebrity cheat enabled.

My life is, by every objective measurement, very very good.

And in spite of all of that, I struggle every day with my self esteem, my self worth, and my value not only as an actor and writer, but as a human being.

That’s because I live with Depression and Anxiety, the tag team champions of the World Wrestling With Mental Illness Federation.

And I’m not ashamed to stand here, in front of six hundred people in this room, and millions more online, and proudly say that I live with mental illness, and that’s okay. I say “with” because even though my mental illness tries its best, it doesn’t control me, it doesn’t define me, and I refuse to be stigmatized by it.

So. My name is Wil Wheaton, and I have Chronic Depression.

It took me over thirty years to be able to say those ten words, and I suffered for most of them as a result. I suffered because though we in America have done a lot to help people who live with mental illness, we have not done nearly enough to make it okay for our fellow travelers on the wonky brain express to reach out and accept that help.

I’m here today to talk with you about working to end the stigma and prejudice that surrounds mental illness in America, and as part of that, I want to share my story with you.

When I was a little kid, probably seven or eight years old, I started having panic attacks. Back then, we didn’t know that’s what they were, and because they usually happened when I was asleep, the adults in my life just thought I had nightmares. Well, I did have nightmares, but they were so much worse than just bad dreams. Night after night, I’d wake up in absolute terror, and night after night, I’d drag my blankets off my bed, to go to sleep on the floor in my sister’s bedroom, because I was so afraid to be alone.

There were occasional stretches of relief, sometimes for months at a time, and during those months, I felt like what I considered to be a normal kid, but the panic attacks always came back, and each time they came back, they seemed worse than before.

When I was around twelve or thirteen, my anxiety began to express itself in all sorts of delightful ways.

I worried about everything. I was tired all the time, and irritable most of the time. I had no confidence and terrible self-esteem. I felt like I couldn’t trust anyone who wanted to be close to me, because I was convinced that I was stupid and worthless and the only reason anyone would want to be my friend was to take advantage of my fame.

This is important context. When I was thirteen, I was in an internationally-beloved film called Stand by Me, and I was famous. Like, really famous, like, can’t-go-to-the-mall-with-my-friends-without-getting-mobbed famous, and that meant that all of my actions were scrutinized by my parents, my peers, my fans, and the press. All the weird, anxious feelings I had all the time? I’d been raised to believe that they were shameful. That they reflected poorly on my parents and my family. That they should be crammed down deep inside me, shared with nobody, and kept secret.

My panic attacks happened daily, and not just when I was asleep. When I tried to reach out to the adults in my life for help, they didn’t take me seriously. When I was on the set of a tv show or commercial, and I was having a hard time breathing because I was so anxious about making a mistake and getting fired? The directors and producers complained to my parents that I was being difficult to work with. When I was so uncomfortable with my haircut or my crooked teeth and didn’t want to pose for teen magazine photos, the publicists told me that I was being ungrateful and trying to sabotage my success. When I couldn’t remember my lines, because I was so anxious about things I can’t even remember now, directors would accuse me of being unprofessional and unprepared. And that’s when my anxiety turned into depression.

(I’m going to take a moment for myself right now, and I’m going to tear a hole in the fabric of spacetime and I’m going to tell all those adults from the past: give this kid a break. He’s scared. He’s confused. He is doing the best he can, and if you all could stop seeing him as a way to put money into your pockets, maybe you could see that he’s suffering and needs help.)
I was miserable a lot of the time, and it didn’t make any sense. I was living a childhood dream, working on Star Trek: The Next Generation, and getting paid to do what I loved. I had all the video games and board games I ever wanted, and did I mention that I was famous?

I struggled to reconcile the facts of my life with the reality of my existence. I knew something was wrong with me, but I didn’t know what. And because I didn’t know what, I didn’t know how to ask for help.

I wish I had known that I had a mental illness that could be treated! I wish I had known that that the way I felt wasn’t normal and it wasn’t necessary. I wish I had known that I didn’t deserve to feel bad, all the time.

And I didn’t know those things, because Mental Illness was something my family didn’t talk about, and when they did, they talked about it like it was something that happened to someone else, and that it was something they should be ashamed of, because it was a result of something they did. This prejudice existed in my family in spite of the ample incidence of mental illness that ran rampant through my DNA, featuring successful and unsuccessful suicide attempts by my relations, more than one case of bipolar disorder, clinical depression everywhere, and, because of self-medication, so much alcoholism, it was actually notable when someone didn’t have a drinking problem.

Now, I don’t blame my parents for how they addressed – or more accurately didn’t address – my mental illness, because I genuinely believe they were blind to the symptoms I was exhibiting. They grew up and raised me in the world I’ve spent the last decade of my life trying to change. They lived in a world where mental illness was equated with weakness, and shame, and as a result, I suffered until I was in my thirties.

And it’s not like I never reached out for help. I did! I just didn’t know what questions to ask, and the adults I was close to didn’t know what answers to give.

I clearly remember being twenty-two, living in my own house, waking up from a panic attack that was so terrifying just writing about it for this talk gave me so much anxiety I almost cut this section from my speech. It was the middle of the night, and I drove across town, to my parents’ house, to sleep on the floor of my sister’s bedroom again, because at least that’s where I felt safe. The next morning, I tearfully asked my mom what was wrong with me. She knew that many of my blood relatives had mental illness, but she couldn’t or wouldn’t connect the dots. “You’re just realizing that the world is a scary place,” she said.

Yeah, no kidding. The world terrifies me every night of my life and I don’t know why or how to stop it.

Again, I don’t blame her and neither should you. She really was doing the best that she could for me, but stigma and the shame is inspires are powerful things.
I want to be very clear on this: Mom, I know you’re going to read this or hear this and I know it’s going to make you upset. I want you to know that I love you, and I know that you did the very best you could. I’m telling my story, though, so someone else’s mom can see the things you didn’t, through no fault of your own.

Through my twenties, I continued to suffer, and not just from nightmares and panic attacks. I began to develop obsessive behaviors that I’ve never talked about in public until right now. Here’s a very incomplete list: I began to worry that the things I did would affect the world around me in totally irrational ways. I would hold my breath underneath bridges when I was driving, because if I didn’t, maybe I’d crash my car. I would tap the side of an airplane with my hand while I was boarding, and tell it to take care of me when I flew places for work, because I was convinced that if I didn’t, the plane would crash. Every single time I said goodbye to someone I cared about, my brain would play out in vivid detail how I would remember this as the last time I saw them. Talking about those memories, even without getting into specifics, is challenging. It’s painful to recall, but I’m not ashamed, because all those thoughts – which I thankfully don’t have any more, thanks to medical science and therapy – were not my fault any more than the allergies that clog my sinuses when the trees in my neighborhood start doin’ it every spring are my fault. It’s just part of who I am. It’s part of how my brain is wired, and because I know that, I can medically treat it, instead of being a victim of it.

One of the primary reasons I speak out about my mental illness, is so that I can make the difference in someone’s life that I wish had been made in mine when I was young, because not only did I have no idea what Depression even was until I was in my twenties, once I was pretty sure that I had it, I suffered with it for another fifteen years, because I was ashamed, I was embarrassed, and I was afraid.

So I am here today to tell anyone who can hear me: if you suspect that you have a mental illness, there is no reason to be ashamed, or embarrassed, and most importantly, you do not need to be afraid. You do not need to suffer. There is nothing noble in suffering, and there is nothing shameful or weak in asking for help. This may seem really obvious to a lot of you, but it wasn’t for me, and I’m a pretty smart guy, so I’m going to say it anyway: There is no reason to feel embarrassed when you reach out to a professional for help, because the person you are reaching out to is someone who has literally dedicated their life to helping people like us live, instead of merely exist.

That difference, between existing and living, is something I want to focus on for a minute: before I got help for my anxiety and depression, I didn’t truly live my life. I wanted to go do things with my friends, but my anxiety always found a way to stop me. Traffic would just be too stressful, it would tell me. It’s going to be a real hassle to get there and find parking, it would helpfully observe. And if those didn’t stop me from leaving my house, there was always the old reliable: What if…? Ah, “What if… something totally unlikely to happen actually happens? What if the plane crashes? What if I sit next to someone who freaks me out? What if they laugh at me? What if I get lost? What if I get robbed? What if I get locked out of my hotel room? What if I slip on some ice I didn’t see? What if there’s an earthquake? What if what if what if what if…

When I look back on most of my life, it breaks my heart that when my brain was unloading an endless pile of what ifs on me, it never asked, “What if I go do this thing that I want to do, and it’s … fun? What if I enjoy myself, and I’m really glad I went?”

I have to tell you a painful truth: I missed out on a lot of things, during what are supposed to be the best years of my life, because I was paralyzed by What If-ing anxiety.

All the things that people do when they are living their lives … all those experiences that make up a life, my anxiety got in between me and doing them. So I wasn’t living. I was just existing.

And through it all, I never stopped to ask myself if this was normal, or healthy, or even if it was my fault. I just knew that I was nervous about stuff, and I worried a lot. For my entire childhood, my mom told me that I was a worry wart, and my dad said I was overly dramatic about everything, and that’s just the way it was.

Except it didn’t have to be that way, and it took me having a full blown panic attack and a complete meltdown at Los Angeles International Airport for my wife to suggest to me that I get help.

Like I said, I had suspected for years that I was clinically depressed, but I was afraid to admit it, until the most important person in my life told me without shame or judgment that she could see that I was suffering. So I went to see a doctor, and I will never forget what he said, when I told him how afraid I was: “Please let me help you.”

I think it was then, at about 34 years-old, that I realized that Mental Illness is not weakness. It’s just an illness. I mean, it’s right there in the name “Mental ILLNESS” so it shouldn’t have been the revelation that it was, but when the part of our bodies that is responsible for how we perceive the world and ourselves is the same part of our body that is sick, it can be difficult to find objectivity or perspective.

So I let my doctor help me. I started a low dose of an antidepressant, and I waited to see if anything was going to change.

And boy did it.

My wife and I were having a walk in our neighborhood and I realized that it was just a really beautiful day – it was warm with just a little bit of a breeze, the birds sounded really beautiful, the flowers smelled really great and my wife’s hand felt really good in mine.

And as we were walking I just started to cry and she asked me, “what’s wrong?”

I said “I just realized that I don’t feel bad and I just realized that I’m not existing, I’m living.”

At that moment, I realized that I had lived my life in a room that was so loud, all I could do every day was deal with how loud it was. But with the help of my wife, my doctor, and medical science, I found a doorway out of that room.

I had taken that walk with my wife almost every day for nearly ten years, before I ever noticed the birds or the flowers, or how loved I felt when I noticed that her hand was holding mine. Ten years – all of my twenties – that I can never get back. Ten years of suffering and feeling weak and worthless and afraid all the time, because of the stigma that surrounds mental illness.

I’m not religious, but I can still say Thank God for Anne Wheaton. Thank God for her love and support. Thank God that my wife saw that I was hurting, and thank God she didn’t believe the lie that Depression is weakness, or something to be ashamed of. Thank God for Anne, because if she hadn’t had the strength to encourage me to seek professional help, I don’t know how much longer I would have been able to even exist, to say nothing of truly living.

I started talking in public about my mental illness in 2012, and ever since then, people reach out to me online every day, and they ask me about living with depression and anxiety. They share their stories, and ask me how I get through a bad day, or a bad week.

Here’s one of the things I tell them:

One of the many delightful things about having Depression and Anxiety is occasionally and unexpectedly feeling like the whole goddamn world is a heavy lead blanket, like that thing they put on your chest at the dentist when you get x-rays, and it’s been dropped around your entire existence without your consent.

Physically, it weighs heavier on me in some places than it does in others. I feel it tugging at the corners of my eyes, and pressing down on the center of my chest. When it’s really bad, it can feel like one of those dreams where you try to move, but every step and every motion feels like you’re struggling to move through something heavy and viscous. Emotionally, it covers me completely, separating me from my motivation, my focus, and everything that brings me joy in my life.
When it drops that lead apron over us, we have to remind ourselves that one of the things Depression does, to keep itself strong and in charge, is tell us lies, like: I am the worst at everything. Nobody really likes me. I don’t deserve to be happy. This will never end. And so on and so on. We can know, in our rational minds, that this is a giant bunch of bullshit (and we can look at all these times in our lives when were WERE good at a thing, when we genuinely felt happy, when we felt awful but got through it, etc.) but in the moment, it can be a serious challenge to wait for Depression to lift the roadblock that’s keeping us from moving those facts from our rational mind to our emotional selves.

And that’s the thing about Depression: we can’t force it to go away. As I’ve said, if I could just “stop feeling sad” I WOULD. (And, also, Depression isn’t just feeling sad, right? It’s a lot of things together than can manifest themselves into something that is most easily simplified into “I feel sad.”)

So another step in our self care is to be gentle with ourselves. Depression is beating up on us already, and we don’t need to help it out. Give yourself permission to acknowledge that you’re feeling terrible (or bad, or whatever it is you are feeling), and then do a little thing, just one single thing, that you probably don’t feel like doing, and I PROMISE you it will help. Some of those things are:

Take a shower.

Eat a nutritious meal.

Take a walk outside (even if it’s literally to the corner and back).

Do something – throw a ball, play tug of war, give belly rubs – with a dog. Just about any activity with my dogs, even if it’s just a snuggle on the couch for a few minutes, helps me.

Do five minutes of yoga stretching.

Listen to a guided meditation and follow along as best as you can.

Finally, please trust me and know that this shitty, awful, overwhelming, terrible way you feel IS NOT FOREVER. It will get better. It always gets better. You are not alone in this fight, and you are OK.

Right now, there is a child somewhere who has the same panic attacks I had, and their parents aren’t getting them help, because they believe it reflects poorly on their parenting to have a child with mental illness. Right now, there is a teenager who is contemplating self harm, because they don’t know how to reach out and ask for help. Right now, there are too many people struggling just to get to the end of the day, because they can’t afford the help that a lot of us can’t live without. But there are also people everywhere who are picking up the phone and making an appointment. There are parents who have learned that mental illness is no different than physical illness, and they’re helping their children get better. There are adults who, like me, were terrified that antidepressant medication would make them a different person, and they’re hearing the birds sing for the first time, because they have finally found their way out of the dark room.

I spent the first thirty years of my life trapped in that dark, loud room, and I know how hopeless and suffocating it feels to be in there, so I do everything I can to help others find their way out. I do that by telling my story, so that my privilege and success does more than enrich my own life. I can live by example for someone else the way Jenny Lawson lives by example for me.

But I want to leave you today with some suggestions for things that we can all do, even if you’re not Internet Famous like I am, to help end the stigma of mental illness, so that nobody has to merely exist, when they could be living.

We can start by demanding that our elected officials fully fund mental health programs. No person anywhere, especially here in the richest country in the world, should live in the shadows or suffer alone, because they can’t afford treatment. We have all the money in the world for weapons and corporate tax cuts, so I know that we can afford to prioritize not just health care in general, but mental health care, specifically.

And until our elected officials get their acts together, we can support organizations like NAMI, that offer low and no-cost assistance to anyone who asks for it. We can support organizations like Project UROK, that work tirelessly to end stigmatization and remind us that we are sick, not weak.

We can remember, and we can remind each other, that there is no finish line when it comes to mental illness. It’s a journey, and sometimes we can see the path we’re on all the way to the horizon, while other times we can’t even see five feet in front of us because the fog is so thick. But the path is always there, and if we can’t locate it on our own, we have loved ones and doctors and medications to help us find it again, as long as we don’t give up trying to see it.

Finally, we who live with mental illness need to talk about it, because our friends and neighbors know us and trust us. It’s one thing for me to stand here and tell you that you’re not alone in this fight, but it’s something else entirely for you to prove it. We need to share our experiences, so someone who is suffering the way I was won’t feel weird or broken or ashamed or afraid to seek treatment. So that parents don’t feel like they have failed or somehow screwed up when they see symptoms in their kids.

People tell me that I’m brave for speaking out the way I do, and while I appreciate that, I don’t necessarily agree. Firefighters are brave. Single parents who work multiple jobs to take care of their kids are brave. The Parkland students are brave. People who reach out to get help for their mental illness are brave. I’m not brave. I’m just a writer and occasional actor who wants to share his privilege and good fortune with the world, who hopes to speak out about mental health so much that one day, it will be wholly unremarkable to stand up and say fifteen words:

My name is Wil Wheaton, I live with chronic depression, and I am not ashamed.

Thank you for listening to me, and please be kind to each other.

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Comments (817)

  1. Thank you so much for this. I too have lived for decades with “the tag team champions of the World Wrestling With Mental Illness Federation” (I can’t tell you how much I love that) and now work in community mental health. The struggle to end the stigma around mental illness is so important – and exists even in the mental health industry. Your words here bring to mind my own heaviness – but also the lightness that comes from asking for and getting helpm

  2. “When I tried to reach out to the adults in my life for help, they didn’t take me seriously.”

    This line brought tears to my eyes because adults didn’t take me seriously when I tried to explain the way I felt. I’ve watched parents, friends of mine, dismissing the concerns of their children or nieces or nephews because that’s the way kids are.

    Please, those of you who have children or are close to children, when you listen to those children hear what their saying. Don’t just let it roll off your back because that’s the way kids are.

  3. I’m always worried that I will get fired when I eventually try and get on some kinda depression meds. My boss as clearly stated a few times that he doesn’t keep people who are medicated in the job, or that even need medication. And I’m like, trying to not who any kind of bad mood or anything at work. And I’ve had depression since I was a kid, so I just don’t show any kind of emotion if I can help it, which I get called out for a lot. But like, it’s either having my boss sarcastically comment that my excitement levels are “too much to handle” or risk just getting fired as some kinda risk for something(I don’t get the logic)

  4. Wil, you express yourself eloquently. I’m considerably older than you but have only recently started to identify the “ups” in my life that caused me to feel invincible and make stupid decisions, and the “down” times that dragged me into despair on the other side of the cycle. My bipolarity and your depression aren’t exactly the same, but they are both issues that we figure out over time at a rate that varies by the individual. You’ve been fortunate to discover the keys to your illness at a time in life when you can effect positive change for the rest of your existence. Good for you. And thanks for realizing the importance of sharing your knowledge with others who are still young enough to take your advice and, if not improve their lives, at least realize they are not alone in the way they feel. I wish I had read your words 20-30 years ago – I did not, but I eventually found a way to keep my ups and downs in perspective before letting them consume me. Never stop talking about this! Too many people need to hear your wise and intelligent thoughts.

  5. My 11 year old son is having panic attacks similar to what you described. I recognize them from my own experience (& those obsessive behaviors resonate loud & clear). Even so, I don’t always know what to say to him, & you’ve really helped me here by reminding me to vocalize that depression lies, & it won’t feel like this forever. I’d already decided to make the appointment, & reading this, I feel supported. I appreciate you. Thank you.

  6. Thank you for sharing this. An acquaintance of mine foind it very helpful for himself. However, his mother needs to hear it but doesn’t read English. Is there any way you could post a Spanish translation? Thanks for your time and attention.

    1. Try Google Translate. You will have to Copy & paste rest of speech, but here is most of it
      Mi nombre es Wil Wheaton. Vivo con Depresión crónica, y no estoy avergonzado.
      Publicado por Wil
      Estoy a punto de hablar con la conferencia estatal de NAMI Ohio, Fulfilling the Promise. Estas son las observaciones que preparé para mi discurso.

      Antes de comenzar, quiero advertirles que esta charla toca muchos temas desencadenantes, incluidos autolesiones y suicidio. También quiero que sepa que estoy hablando desde mi experiencia personal, y que si usted o alguien que usted conoce puede estar viviendo con una enfermedad mental, hable con un profesional médico calificado y con licencia, porque no soy médico.

      De acuerdo, hagamos esto.

      Hola, soy Wil Wheaton. Tengo 45 años, tengo una esposa maravillosa, dos hijos adultos que me hacen sentir orgulloso todos los días, y una nuera a la que amo como si fuera mi propia hija. Trabajo en la serie de comedias más popular del mundo, he sido narrador de audiolibros de best-sellers número uno del New York Times, me he quedado sin espacio en mi oficina por los premios que he recibido por mi trabajo, y como blanco , heterosexual, hombre cisgénero en Estados Unidos, vivo la vida en el nivel más bajo de dificultad, con el truco de Celebrity habilitado.

      Mi vida es, por cada medida objetiva, muy, muy buena.

      Y a pesar de todo eso, lucho todos los días con mi autoestima, mi autoestima y mi valor no solo como actor y escritor, sino como ser humano.

      Eso es porque vivo con Depression and Anxiety, los campeones del equipo de la World Wrestling With Mental Illness Federation.

      Y no me da vergüenza estar aquí, delante de seiscientas personas en esta sala, y millones más en línea, y decir con orgullo que vivo con una enfermedad mental, y está bien. Digo “con” porque, aunque mi enfermedad mental hace todo lo posible, no me controla, no me define y me niego a ser estigmatizado por eso.

      Asi que. Mi nombre es Wil Wheaton, y tengo depresión crónica.

      Me tomó más de treinta años poder decir esas diez palabras, y sufrí por la mayoría de ellas como resultado. Sufrí porque, a pesar de que en Estados Unidos hemos hecho mucho para ayudar a las personas que viven con enfermedades mentales, no hemos hecho lo suficiente para que nuestros compañeros de viaje en el cerebro expreso no puedan hacer lo mismo y aceptar esa ayuda.

      Estoy aquí hoy para hablar con ustedes sobre cómo trabajar para terminar con el estigma y los prejuicios que rodean a la enfermedad mental en Estados Unidos, y como parte de eso, quiero compartir mi historia con ustedes.

      Cuando era un niño pequeño, probablemente de siete u ocho años, comencé a tener ataques de pánico. En aquel entonces, no sabíamos lo que eran, y como solían suceder cuando estaba dormida, los adultos en mi vida creían tener pesadillas. Bueno, tuve pesadillas, pero eran mucho peores que simples pesadillas. Noche tras noche, me despertaba con absoluto terror y, noche tras noche, sacaba las mantas de la cama y me acostaba en el suelo de la habitación de mi hermana, porque temía estar sola.

      Hubo períodos de alivio ocasionales, a veces durante meses, y durante esos meses, me sentí como lo que yo consideraba un niño normal, pero los ataques de pánico siempre regresaban, y cada vez que regresaban, parecían peores que antes de.

      Cuando tenía alrededor de doce o trece años, mi ansiedad comenzó a expresarse en todo tipo de formas deliciosas.

      Me preocupaba todo Estaba cansado todo el tiempo e irritable la mayor parte del tiempo. No tenía confianza y una autoestima terrible. Sentía que no podía confiar en nadie que quisiera estar cerca de mí, porque estaba convencido de que era estúpido y sin valor y que la única razón por la que alguien quisiera ser mi amigo era para aprovechar mi fama.

      Este es un contexto importante. Cuando tenía trece años, estaba en una película de fama internacional llamada Stand by Me, y fui famoso. Como, muy famoso, como “no puedo ir al centro comercial con mis amigos sin ser golpeado famoso”, y eso significaba que todas mis acciones fueron escrutadas por mis padres, mis compañeros, mi fanáticos y la prensa. ¿Todos los sentimientos extraños y ansiosos que tuve todo el tiempo? Me criaron para creer que eran vergonzosos. Que reflejaban mal a mis padres y mi familia. Que deberían estar abarrotados dentro de mí, compartidos con nadie y guardados en secreto.

      Mis ataques de pánico ocurrieron a diario, y no solo cuando estaba dormido. Cuando intenté contactar a los adultos en mi vida en busca de ayuda, no me tomaron en serio. Cuando estaba en el plató de un programa de televisión o comercial, y estaba teniendo dificultades para respirar porque estaba tan ansioso por cometer un error y ser despedido. Los directores y productores se quejaron a mis padres de que me estaba resultando difícil trabajar con ellos. Cuando estaba tan incómodo con mi corte de pelo o mis dientes torcidos y no quería posar para fotos de revistas para adolescentes, los publicistas me dijeron que estaba siendo desagradecido y trataba de sabotear mi éxito. Cuando no podía recordar mis líneas, porque estaba tan ansioso por cosas que ni siquiera puedo recordar ahora, los directores me acusan de ser poco profesional y no estar preparado. Y fue entonces cuando mi ansiedad se convirtió en depresión.

      (Voy a t

  7. This matters to me. I’ve always dismissed celebrity news or gossip, even when it’s been about the stars of shows I love. But when someone steps forward to confront stigma, and speaks so bravely and candidly, it matters to me. Quite candidly, you said a few things that I can relate to—the anxiety attacks as a child (through college, actually) and feelings of being “unworthy” of recognition or friendship. I do slap the side of every plane I board, but it’s in appreciation of the (hopefully unionized) labor that went into putting it together.

    “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…”

    You are loved, Wil Wheaton. And not because you’re famous.

  8. Thank you, Wil. This is a terrific, terrific piece. I have refractory depression and have never felt the uplift you describe from finding the right medication or therapy. But I’d say I am often able to stand in the doorway of that dark room and look out, or even step out a little ways, thanks to loved ones, and medical providers who don’t give up, and reading stories and inspirational pieces like yours. In my world, these stories themselves are healing, and people like you are healers. Thank you again.

  9. I have suffered with this all of my life as well… thank you for putting it down in words for me… my parents were great BUT my mother suffered with panic attacks and anxiety as well and seeing that in a parent is very frightening… it took until just before died from cancer for us to have a ‘Star Wars’ moment ‘I love you’ ‘ I know’…

    I was lucky in some ways in that my mum loved Science Fiction so when back in ’69 a new sci fi show came to the UK I was sat down and told to be quite and watch… I did and have been a fan every since. Star Trek got me through loads at school… I was bullied for being different and my parents were poor so had problems with that… Star Trek made me believe there was a better way of life and that eventually mankind will learn to live with each other faults and all!

    I had friends and boyfriends and a husband who never understood what I was going through because I always used to put up a front that says I am a very confident person. I have 2 cats who look after me… 🙂 Always had them even though I have ME/CFS and can’t work so on benefits. And I won’t go into how the DWP are killing people over here for being ill!

    The only place I really felt safe was at conventions which is strange as they are the last place that someone like me would feel safe. I started going in ’81 with my mum…stopped when I got married and then started again after he left. I didn’t go for loads for a while because they became like Comic Cons rather than the small hotel run ones that I love! Then I found Stargate SG1 and started to go their cons and found some people who had been to the conventions I had back in the day!

    I have just moved from a small dark flat I have lived in for 31 yrs to a grd flr flat with a garden… I am beginning to feel better mentally… not perfect as I have to deal with just getting out of bed still but I get there… well I have to as the cats get me up!!! LOL

    This is very rambling sorry about that.. first thing on a Sunday! I still have lots of problems with people who really don’t understand what I am going through and tell me to suck it up! it is difficult but I take each day by day.

    Kriss 🙂

  11. My name is Sian, I’m 48 years old and I also live with Depression and Anxiety. I am one of the ‘lucky’ ones, being in the UK, and Wales in particular, means that my medication and therapy are all free.

    Like you, I had a family who would not address mental illness while I was growing up – so I lacked support until I was in my twenties, when my closest friend told me it didn’t have to be this way and took me along to the GP.

    I too remember when those first tablets took effect. We were out, and instead of pretending that I was having fun (you’ll know the one – you made it out, you are with friends, so you pretend to be having fun while inside you are screaming in terror) I realised that I actually was. I wasn’t hiding in a corner of my mind, terrifed, while the rest of me acted ‘happy’

    The thing with this illness is that it’s cunning. It morphs. It hides in corners, sniggering, as you think you have a handle on it, then comes back with a new way to torment you.

    But we too morph with it. We change our meds. We find ways around it. To mute the sniggering.

    Most of all, as you say, we learn to live, despite it.

  13. My name is Anke Jaanen, I live with chronic depression, and I am not ashamed.
    Just fucking tired of the bullshit spouted by mental illness deniers (yes, those exist) and stigma continued by shame.

  14. Wil, obviously you know and love my wife. Every time you do this I share with her, because she suffers the same. It helps having a friend she can relate to. That friend isn’t me. We live a stressful life and, unfortunately, our society denies depression relief in the way of denying things like life insurance for being on medication. But, posts from friends like this genuinely help. Thank you.

  15. My name is Shari and I have chronic depression. I tried three times to end my life and failed. I always chalked it up to it showing what a screw up I was.
    I was wrong.
    I met and fell in love with a wonderful man who stood beside me when I was in that dark place. For years we tried to get me help only to be told “You’ll be fine, it will pass.”
    I was discouraged but my husband wasn’t. He told me that we just didn’t find the right doctor.
    He was right. We eventually found a doctor who looked over my records and diagnosed “Chronic Depression.”
    My black beast had a name. Like you he started me in a small dose of medication. And one day it was like a light switch was flipped. I was playing and singing with my daughter when she exclaimed “Mama, you’re happy! You not sad anymore!”
    I hadn’t realized my problem, my beast, was being noticed by my child. I thought I’d hidden it from her.
    I bet you think that’s the end of my story. It’s not.
    Fast forward a few years and we are seeing our daughter becoming this sad, angry scared stranger.
    We talk to her doctor and are told “Its just because she’s a teenager. It’s hormones. Give it time, she will grow out of it.”
    She didnt. It got steadily worse.
    She was terrified of the world, day to day activities became “unsafe”. If we went to a movie she had to know where the emergency exits were, every place we went she looked for quick escape routes. She clung to us when we went shopping, almost as if she were afraid we would suddenly disappear. She only felt safe at home.
    Some days were bad, one day she was kneeling in the middle of our front room sobbing and pulling at her hair, screaming “What is wrong with me?!”
    Then there was the day I discovered she was planning suicide.
    During this time her dad and I didn’t sleep at night. We stayed awake keeping watch, absolutely afraid that if we slept we would miss an attempt.
    We tried again with a different doctor and she immediately referred us to a mental health clinic.
    After exams, bloodwork etc., she had a name for her demon.
    Depression and Anxiety Disorder.
    While in a counseling session, I revealed to her my own attempts to end my life. She burst into tears and hugged me, “Mom, you really know where my mind is! You know!”
    Yes, baby girl, I know. God, do I know…
    She’s on medication now. It helps. She still has bad days, days when the demon rears its ugly head.
    But she knows we have her back. Together as a family we wil beat that demon back to its black pit.
    We won’t let it win.

    1. I have been a fan of yours since Stand By Me and have suffered from mental illness since I was a teen. Thank you for sharing your story with everyone. It does take a lot of courage to do that. And thank goodness for Anne helping to get you the help that you needed. She is an amazing woman!

  17. You chose an excellent organization to speak at. NAMI is one of the most pro-active mental health organizations out there today and adding your voice to the call is simply another weapon in their arsenal to effectively use.

    Thank you for sharing your incredibly personal story.

  18. Thanks Will for coming forward and making a difference in people’s lives. I also feel that there is not enough help in this country for mental illness for children. My niece has suffered for years with personality disorder and even psychiatrists won’t give her the help she needs until she is at least 14. I wish things would change so that children could get help early instead of suffering for years. I am glad you found some reprieve for yourself!

  19. Someone shared this link on my Facebook, and having been a huge fan of Wil’s since his STTNG time, I had to read. I almost cried. I swear, I was reading my own story. Panic attacks at 6….suffering secretly throughout childhood thinking something was horribly wrong with me….months that were good and then relapses….OCD-like behaviours….only difference is I finally found a doctor at 19 (I am now 35). I am now very vocal about my illness for the same reasons – there is no need for children or adults to suffer in silence, feeling that they are horribly alone!! It is truly a blessing that someone in Wil’s position can share this story. For me, finding out that I wasn’t alone in this sort of suffering was the moment my life truly changed for the better. Much love to you Wil for your courage and strength – if I had known you as a child, I could have hugged you and told you, “Me too!” Best wishes.

  20. Dear me… I identify with so much of this, Wil – thank you for publishing it.

    I’m 58 and an ex entertainer – ex because at the end of 2012 after a gig a fell down four steps and damaged my spinal cord. Months in hospital rehabilitating got me ‘walking’ and able to use my arms a fair bit (following total paralysis at the start), left me unable to perform again. For a while this was liberating and my depression lifted – but it came back.

    I can’t earn a living, can’t do housework or cook as often as I used to. I’m of no use to anyone – and often wake up with the the thought, “oh no, I’m still alive”.

    I KNOW my brain’s lying to me – my friends and partner make this obvious, but you know that feeling – I can tell.

    While we have a pretty wonderful free health service here in the UK, the government are crushing it, and despite their words, the resources for mental healthcare are under huge pressure – there simply are not enough professionals to help people. I get my mild anti-depressants – but that’s it.

    Thank you again Wil. I appreciate your honesty – and that in itself is a help.

  24. I have the same struggles. Mine is more anxiety than depression. I think one therapist even once called it anxiety driven depression. The panic attacks as a child were crippling at times. Traumatic events in my life magnified the anxiety and led to a diagnosis of PTSD when I got older. Im also a member MENSA. Do you ever wonder if that adds another layer to our anxiety? You know, that old adage, “Ignorance is bliss”. I often wonder if there is a connection. Thank you again for sharing. It’s therapeutic for you AND the rest of us out here. And I appreciate it very much!

  25. Thank you for this message, Wil. The analogy of the heavy lead apron is particularly poignant for me. There are days when it not only settles on my body, but it feels like it is being drawn down to the earth by some magnetizing force. To combat it I have had to draw on superheroic images of strength and visualize myself casting it off in some Kirbyesque, explosive fashion so that I can find the energy to do the physical activity which allows my mind to get back in the world.

    Please keep doing your good work.

  27. Wil, Thank You. We need you at Brain Aid Fest. The world needs epic events like Live Aid, Farm Aid, Comic Relief, Lollapalooza, Woodstock & Coachella (Brainchella? Nah) to hit home the importance of mental health and to shatter (yes, SHATTER) the stigma of mental illness & treatment. Brain Aid started last year in Athens, GA, the Southern home of Mania & Depression, or as I call them, Mark & Dan. Thanks REM. Shiny Happy People/Everybody Hurts is Manic Depression on a single record. I am talking with some Very Influentual People about doing a Brain Aid event in Los Angeles. Please join us?

    ❤️🤯💫,
    Stephen Cramer
    Facebook.com/brainaidfest

    http://flagpole.com/music/music-features/2017/09/13/brain-aid-fest-brings-mental-health-awareness-to-the-athens-stage

    Tinyurl.com/brainaid101

  28. This was powerful, and I hope I can get the care I need. I have PTSD and probably CTE on top of the others. Plus, with my wife dying of cancer (we are both under 40 years old), and my mother having a massive stroke, I find myself making mistakes and not letting go. The thing that hit home with me is being gentle with myself. I realized how much I missed in the exact time frame you did, and I know how much work I need to out in so I don’t miss out on more, especially since it is so critical to make every day count now.

    Thank you for sharing your story. I know it is never easy, and I can only imagine what you were experiencing when you were writing this.

  29. My dad lived a long life, with adult responsibilities starting at the age of 12. Experiencing the Great Depression in his teen years, he also went through very difficult times with family members. I clearly remember a childhood friend who came to our house to help him paint. He returned day after day, because they could visit and talk while they worked together, about things nobody else could, or would. I think my Dad got just as much out of those talks as did my friend, whose own father had previously taken his life. Reach out; connections can be found in the most unlikely places.

  31. Thank you for the well written, excellently described, real account. I’m 50 and could never have put this struggle or the feeling after getting assistance into such true words. It is nothing to be ashamed of, although i struggle myself with the shame at times. It is an illness. It is real. It is a constant battle even though there are good times and you intellectually know your thoughts may be unreasonable sometimes that doesn’t help. If there is one thing you need to do is keep fighting to live!

  32. Thank you for this, Wil. My husband and I share a psychiatrist, a wonderful woman who makes you feel better when she walks in the room, because she radiates wisdom, kindness, and competence. He has depression and anxiety issues. I was finally diagnosed with ADD, with comorbid SAD and a sleep disorder, at the age of 52, and suddenly my whole life made sense. I will be sharing your article.

    I want to add this: I write about nutrition for a living. Quitting sugar and white flour at the age of 19 was my first step to realizing my brain could be different, and it is a lifelong passion. Because of this, and because I’m fairly successful, my Facebook feed frequently shows memes and articles about how psych meds are unnecessary, you should just take a walk and eat right! You should just do yoga! You should spend time in the woods every day! (Because most people with day jobs have time to go for a walk in the woods every day, should they even happen to live near a woods.)

    I had one fellow ask me why, if my diet was so good, if I was doing it right nutritionally, I still needed my Wellbutrin and my sleep meds. Shouldn’t I be able to find a “natural” treatment? (Don’t even get me started on the Appeal To Nature Fallacy.)

    I replied that I have been in and around the world of alternative health care my entire adult life — running a health food store, working as a massage therapist, writing about low carbohydrate diets. I take my vitamins*. I don’t eat garbage. I get my exercise. I sit in the sun every morning that there is sun, because it vastly improves my mood and helps with my sleep disorder. I have woods in my backyard and walk my dogs there daily. (You are so right about dogs.)

    I have had massage, Rolfing, chiropractice, osteopathy, acupuncture, Traditional Chinese herbal medicine. I have been hypnotized. I have had endless talk therapy — I was seeing a shrink by the age of 11. I have swallowed everything that purports to be a natural sleep aid.

    Much of it had value in one way or another. But other than giving up my truly pathological addiction to sugar, nothing has had the positive effect on my mental state that getting properly medicated has. The first winter I was on Wellbutrin was the first winter in my adult life I didn’t have suicidal ideation by the end of January. And I cannot begin to tell you what a difference going from 2-4 hours sleep most nights to getting 7-9 hours every night has made to my life. Not only have the drugs made me happier and more competent, they have made me a nicer person, more patient, less pushy.

    Yet there is a common either-or mentality — If you “believe” in nutrition and exercise and such, you are somehow betraying that by also taking medication. It is, at heart, a religious belief. It is also pure bullsh!t.

    In ancient Greece and Rome, and well into the common era, the “four humors” hypothesis of health prevailed. Those four humors included the melancholic — aka depression. The fact that some people were simply depressed by nature was recognized thousands of years ago. It bears pointing out that those people ate all organic food, all grass-fed meat and dairy, got plenty of exercise, fresh air, and sunshine, since walking was pretty much the only way to get anywhere. They didn’t drink fluoridated water, or get too much screen time, they hadn’t been vaccinated.

    Yet depression was widely recognized.

    Please, please, anyone who has read this lengthy comment, reject the either-or mentality. Eating right helps. Exercise helps. Sunshine and fresh air help. None of that means that medication doesn’t help too, and often in a way those simpler practices cannot.

    In the past few days I hit a wall — I am past deadline for a book, and the stress is pretty rough. I was exhausted and hopeless, and even my dogs irritated me. Then it hit me: dopamine. I was low on dopamine. Wellbutrin increases dopamine in the prefrontal cortex, but apparently my body wasn’t getting what it needed to make the dopamine for the Wellbutrin to release. I took two capsules of l-tyrosine, the amino acid that is a direct precursor to dopamine, and started feeling better within the hour. Nutrition and meds are not, do not need to be at odds. They can be and are synergistic.

    1. Dana, that is what I’ve been trying to tell people for so long! In the days, weeks, and months before a depressive episode, I’m exercising, eating well, happy, and productive and THEN I get sick. I go downhill while I’m doing those things. So one could almost think that they cause depression! But guess what also happens just before an episode (for me anyway), some kind of medication malfunction!!

  34. Beautifully written and something everyone should read. All I have to say is that I have also suffered from depression and anxiety all my life, and were it not for a friend who noticed, I would have ended my life in my early 20s. So amen to all, and continue to spread the word!

  35. Thanks, Wil. We need more privileged men to come forward. We need more people who are in the field to come forward. Thank you for coming forward.

  36. Thank you for opening up about your mental health issues. My daughter is fourteen and has Autism she is also full of anxiety self loathing and has suicidal thoughts. Meg is kind witty and has a beautiful soul and sadly just like your parents I have not really taken Megs problems seriously (Felt they were more puberty driven)That all changes today. So thank you

  37. Thank you very much for this wonderful essay and speech. I am a psychiatrist who specializes in OCD and it is apparent from reading your essay that you either have OCD or had OCD-like symptoms as part of your clinical depression which is actually a fairly common occurrence although it is not talked about much. I am always looking for stories and experiences of hope when I teach and I would like to include some of what you wrote in future lectures. Thanks again for your courage in sharing this.

  38. This is so great and so true, thank you from the bottom of my heart for sharing this. I am 40 years old and suffer from anxiety/depression, mainly cyclothymia. This triggered and hit me after the birth of my 2nd child as post partum depression, and I had no idea what was happening. It ran in the family, but I didn’t realize it did the same to me as it did my mom. I had to get on (and still take) mood stabilizing medication since anti depressant meds don’t work as effectively on cyclothymia/bi polar, in fact can aggravate the swings. I sought help and am on the right meds (low dose), and couldn’t be happier. There is a lot of shame and misunderstanding on post partum depression as well, where moms are expected to be perfect and always happy for the birth of their wonderful child, and everything should be merry and thankful regardless of zero sleep, post partum, isolation, breast feeding challenges, being drained, trying to bond with your child and feeling like a failure if it doesn’t go perfectly as planned. I love my children so much, but I felt (and was told) I was not able to feel this way and the shame for being ungrateful as a New mom. It was complete crap.

    To all the mothers and fathers out there too, you are not alone. It is a real thing, it is ok, you will be ok, you love your children but u are human and a hero and doing the best you can. There is no right way, just loving your child, loving yourself and getting help. We stand by you and are with you.

  39. Thank you for telling us this. Youre an amazing yyoung man and you always have been. Like you my son, now 24, suffers from chronic nightmares, panic and depression. He has since his dad died. He was only nine years old.
    I showed him what you wrote and it helped him.
    Hug you from me,
    Linda

  40. Gracias por compartir tus sentimientos y por tu lucha, hace tiempo que leo tus blogs y siempre encuentro algo que me ayuda y reconforta , este relato tuyo se lo voy a pasar a un amigo que no se encuentra bien. Saludos desde tucuman argentina

  41. I have replied once to this but feel I need to add more. What do you do when you have tried all the skills you have learned (in groups, in DBt, from your psych and therapist, and meds aren’t helping. When you have had tms (transcrainal magnetic stimulation. When you have National Suicide Hotline number programmed in your contacts. When what you “thought” was your support system doesn’t help because either they don’t or can’t or won’t understand the way I feel. I could go on and on. Your blog post really helped me understand that this is a BIG problem in the USA. Had a ER doc just last week tell me that the reason I passed out was due to anxiety (because he saw I am on antidepressant and I have been in psych unit numerous times). He had to eat his words when there was a physical problem that caused my problem. Even doctors don’t understand. this is a BIG problem here. I wish it would stop.

  42. Wil, thanks for an awesome message! I’m a bipolar disorder survivor (6+ years now since my last cycle). I have been supporting NAMI as a walk team captain the past five years, and want to do more. Please let me know what you think of this. Ever since bouncing back on track from my latest bout with mania (I’ve suffered from bipolar disorder since 1997), I’ve wanted to get an idea that I believe can have a huge positive impact for all of us involved with brain disorders in front of the right people. As you may know, over the years celebrities in the entertainment world have organized benefit events to raise billions to combat a variety of problems or to help those impacted by major epidemics or disasters. Older folks will recall the “Live Aid” event organized by Bob Geldof in 1985. Live Aid raised £150m for famine relief as a direct result of the concerts.

    My wish is that celebrities hold a benefit event, which I’ve dubbed “Mind Aid,” to deal with the most pervasive yet little understood ailments of the brain. I’d like to work with whoever is willing to do what it takes to make this happen. Many states, including Illinois, have been hit hard when it comes to public funding to combat mental illnesses. I’m tired of feeling powerless to help others who have suffered and will continue to do so because of the lack of awareness and proper treatment. Let’s make Mind Aid happen!

  43. I’ve read this so many times since I first saw it posted yesterday afternoon. I cry every time.But, it feels so good to feel not alone. It reads like my own life’s story. While I am also 45 years old, I waited until I was 43 to do something about my depression. I was 5. It didn’t start with panic attacks (those came much, much later), but it started with severe and crippling migraine headaches. I would tell my parents, “I have a headache,” and the answer I always got was, “You’re too young to have headaches…You don’t know anything.” So, I started existing like this is just how people feel all of the time and I just coped. I would hide them. If I felt sick, I would puke in private. I kept this all a secret until I was 16…Taking my driver’s ed final and my mom caught me puking behind a car in the parking lot…I didn’t know she was there…She said, “Honey! What is wrong?” I said, “I’m fine, Mom. It’s ‘just’ another headache.” Then, people took notice. That was the first time anybody gave a shit about it. And, like you, I don’t want anybody to give my folks a hard time about this. that was nearly 30 years ago. But, I so get it. It feels good when I hear stories like yours. I feel less alone. Thank you! So very much. 🙂

  44. I used to suffer from depression. Intense, dark depressions that would last forever, it would seem. Sometimes, they’d lift, and I’d be high as a kite. I probably was bipolar, but I never really explored it all that much. Things got really bad after my ex was raped, and I found myself in the deepest place imaginable, particularly after we broke up.

    But to skip to the end of the story, it wasn’t until I understood depression is anger turned inwards, or anger unexpressed, that I was really able to change. And the way I changed it was by attending group and personal sessions of grief and anger workshops called “externailization workshops”. The externalization process allows you to go into the deepest, darkest places of your psyche, and face the demons head on. First thing is to cut straight through the shame, and simply let yourself be seen for all the negative emotions you’ve been holding back on. All the rage, hatred, envy, bitterness, and everything we’re all too scared to admit can come out and be seen. Only then can you accept them, and allow the innocent child, your true magical self, to come out.

    I suggest looking a therapist up and exploring your anger. It’s the key.

  45. My name is Melinda Robinson. I live with chronic depression and I am not ashamed.

  46. Thank you for posting this. It is critical that the stigma around mental illness ends. These “invisible illnesses” – I mean we LOOK fine, right? – are still too easy to overlook. For years my anxiety and depression were written off as behaviour issues – by my parents and me. Now that I’m standing on the doorway of 40, I’ve finally got things together and am living my life rather than merely existing.

  47. Thank you, Wil. Thank you, Anne. I’m glad you found your way out. My best to you both.

  48. Thank you Will. I also suffer from anxiety and depression. I’m 34 now and after many years of different therapies finally found someone who is getting to the core of my issues. I’m nowhere near actually living yet, this disease keeps me quite stuck at home most days, but there’s been improvements which makes a light shine at the end of the tunnel.

    I have an amazing husband who even though he doesn’t quite understand, having never suffered from this, always supports me and helps me feel better about myself (though the ‘you suck’ voice never leaves). We have an awesome, sweet little boy who is the light of my life which helps as well (though he’s 2 and acting like it quite badly haha).

  50. I need to share this with my daughter. She suffers with depression that started at a young age, 11, that I knew. But your story has me looking at myself now. Mental Illness is in my family too, but I suspect there are no families not touched by depression and anxiety at some point. I too pushed away that I was depressed, denied it. I found a reason for it (childbirth, illnesses, etc). I internalized my daughter’s depression and looked for what I did wrong, where I failed her. I appreciate what you’ve said, it helped me see myself and, more importantly, my daughter.

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