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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Thank you so much! I can relate to just about every story you shared. The fear of failure, losing your job, the constant worry. The deep depression, no one understands. Feeling hopeless, worthless, a burden, and the low self esteem. Thank you for sharing and reminding me that I’m not alone.
Hi Wil,
Thanks for sharing. Our children both have mental health (OCD, anxiety and depression) issues and it pains us to say that a psychologist has told us that it is in part due to our parenting style. This has frustrated us to know end. Our daughter refuses to be medicated she feels that has to be another way to deal with her depression and anxiety and our son is medicated for OCD, ADHD, anxiety and acid reflux plus he has Celiac. We have gotten his OCD to a manageable level but his anxiety is still very high. So high in fact that while he sleeps his hands are in tight fists and he tosses and turns all night and talks in his sleep. Our daughter saw a psychiatrist in 2015 who in his report suggested she be referred to an autism clinic for testing as he believed she was on the spectrum. He asked if I knew who Sheldon was from “The Big Bang Theroy” I said yes, he told me I had a Sheldon living in my home. I looked him right in the face and told him “ I don’t have one I have 2 living in my home” referring to our son. Unfortunately our daughter was never referred as the report never made it to our family doctor and the therapist said it wasn’t worth testing her or her brother as they wouldn’t have enough markers to register on the scale. Long story short our family doctor finally received a copy of the original report and our daughter has an appointment later this month with a psychiatrist who specializes in adolescents and young adults who may be on the spectrum and suffer from depression and our son is seeing a new psychologist. Hopefully things will look better for their future as I am going to start fighting even harder for them to get the help they need. It has been a long 2 1/2 years but I want the best for my children.
Thanks for this Wil. <3
Thanks for sharing, Wil Wheaton! Depression sucks!
GOOD NEWS FOR THE DEPRESSED!
If you suffer with depression you are a good person because…..
Assholes don’t suffer with Depression.
And if someday some jerk ends up with Depression they will become a Better Human because of it.
Thanks From Gander Newfoundland
Wil.
Doug
Thank you Wil! Another reason to love you. As a fellow chronic sufferer I know how important it is to talk about mental illness. As a Christian, I know how difficult that can be. Many Christians (and probably other religions as well), view mental illness as a lack of faith. That’s why I let everyone know that I suffer from depression and that I am a Christian. Especially new moms who may suffer from postpartum depression (this is one of the biggest reasons I didn’t want to have a baby. Thankfully, I didn’t actually get postpartum depression.). It has nothing to do with faith and people shouldn’t suffer because of shame. Please keep speaking out. And, we really miss Tabletop!
Stacy, such a good point & perspective. As a health care provider I’ve had many a discussion with patients of faith who believe it is a weakness in their faith that keeps them from being able to heal their depression. I suggest that counseling, medications, cognitive therapy, biofeedback, meditation, & things like Yoga, exercise, & nutritional support done in conjunction with a comprehensive plan may just be gifts from God, & ask them to allow for room that God may be using us, health care professionals, as His/Her tool in healing. I consider being part of people’s physical & mental healthcare a sacred trust & I know most of my colleagues do as well. I hope anyone reading this & suffering from mental health issues will seek out care. Thank you for sharing.
You are so right! I have heard so many different reasons to justify why a Christian can be depressed and it has absolutely nothing to do with one’s level of faith. Faith can help with depression but lack of it does not cause depression.
Thank you, wilw, for being “out” about depression and anxiety. It helps those of us who fight with negative self-shout and palpable anxiety issues to keep doing that One Thing;
one self-care,
one step of acceptance into the world instead of hiding,
one instance of listening to that kind voice whispering into the maelstrom “I am here. I hear you. You matter.”
My depression was clinical..at first they thought manic (those ups were handy for cleaning the house but the downs sucked) and lithium, but settled on cognitive therapy and Prozac. After 5 years of pouring out my guts and reopening wounds so they could heal correctly, I got better. It’s been 20+ years. Occasionally the abyss beckons and I’ll look over the edge..or sit and dangle my feet….then I get up and find a way to change my thinking.
Thank you for stepping up to the plate and sharing…as a man in America where most men ignore or stuff their vulnerability. Hopefully more rather than less will read your post and realize that their lives can be better.
Thanks Wil. I suffer from anxiety and depression and I think it started in my life around the same age or earlier that it started in yours. Mine was also undiagnosed for so long and I did not have access to consistent, affordable mental health care. I’ve been on so many medications I can’t remember the names. I’ve been in long-term therapy but probably with the wrong person but I stayed because he was cheap and didn’t push me. The medication I was on now is very stabilizing. But there is still a stigma. I’m 54 and was recently shamed by my father over medication! I couldn’t believe it. But he is a severe alcoholic who self-medicates and did not take him seriously. I tried to kill myself 3 times in my 20s. Now, I mostly suffer anxiety and the depression makes me tired and not want to do much outside of my comfort zone. I have never had a romantic relationship. But I have a successful life in other areas. I got help. I got medication. I see a psychiatrist. There is a need for better affordable mental healthcare in both the US and Canada. There is a shortage and it’s usually unaffordable for most people and if you are lucky enough to have benefits it hardly cover it all. We have to advocate for better, affordable, mental healthcare. Thank you for sharing your story. It is so important, especially to parents who have a child they think is just odd or ill behaved. Hopefully this will help them connect the dots.
Thanks so much for writing this. It’s sorely needed.
My name is Kim and I spent almost my entire life struggling with severe treatment resistant depression. No matter what medication combos I was placed on, I continued to have severe depressive and suicidal episodes. About 5 months ago I completed a treatment called transcranial magnetic stimulation and it has changed my life. I have not had an episode for close to half a year now and there are no words to explain how powerful that is.
Everything you wrote speaks to me on every possible level. The shame, the denial, the hopelessness. Thank you for sharing your story. The more of us that make our voices heard the more we can do to help those of us that are still afraid to reach out. We are not alone. I don’t know you and you don’t know me, but we are connected and together we can all make a better world for people that suffer from mental illness.
I like all of the above live with depression. It took a breakdown and a month in a Physc ward to bring about how I had been trying to cope with depression for most of you life. Having a Mother who coped with hers by becoming an alcoholic. Of course they did not have the drugs then, they just gave her Valium ? I don’t think I would have done so many of the self destrucive things if I was not suffering from depression. I am very ashamed of what I did to myself but in doing so hurt people I cared about.
If anyone even reads this. You can have a great life if you seek help. It took over 40 years for me. Good luck all
I could tell from your posture and your eyes when you first appeared on The Big Bang Theory.
After a serious suicide attempt and 2 months in the hospital, there has been nothing else that has given me the peculiar relief I felt when I realized I would be suffering depression all my life – and that I would have to fight for every day of my life if I was to thrive. Once I accepted that, I re-gained my will to live and joy in living.
Live well, Wil Wheaton
Thank you so much for sharing your struggle. I too deal with this, but am allergic to the meds. Life is a daily struggle. I will remember the list of things to try in your blog . Thanks again.
I’m so glad that you posted this, and I’m so grateful that you continually use your writing to help people better understand themselves, and each other. That’s what I hope to do with mine whenever I write/create anything, and you’re a great example of how to do that well.
My wife lives with depression and anxiety, and I’ve seen first-hand not only the toll it takes, but also how strong she is precisely because she takes her meds, she puts one foot in front of the other, and she handles her mental health in a way that’s appropriate for her and that allows her to be her best self for others. She inspires me every day.
Living with her has also made me realize that mental health doesn’t just need our attention when we have a condition like depression or anxiety. Just as we go for medical check-ups and engage in preventative care for our physical beings, so too should it be with mental health. I believe that part of the way we need to reframe mental illness in this country is by talking about mental HEALTH. Not just “asking for help when we’re sick,” but “what can we do to stay well? To stay mentally healthy.” Seeing a therapist should not be reserved for those in crisis. Making time for ourselves or engaging in self-care shouldn’t ONLY happen when we’re “going through something.” Whether we’re mentally ill or not, caring for our mental health is important. I think that if we all got on that page, we’d be able to see dealing with mental illness as just another trip to the doctor.
That damn “what ifs”. I hear you on that (and just about everything else you’ve written here). And our damn brains only deal in worst case scenarios. I wasn’t allowed to think, “What if I go and have fun?” because the asshole part of my brain would pop up and say, “But that will NEVER happen! Bwa ha ha!” Fuck you, asshole part of my brain! I’M GOING!
Thank you!
And now Internet – spread the word!
Thank you so much for opening up and sharing this.
Knowing that you would understand ,I wish I could sit down with you and tell you everything, and hear everything.
I struggle with depression and bipolar disorder and have had my ups and downs, lots of downs, but I am managing it for the most part right now.
It took me years crawl out of a very dark place but I had a wonderful therapist and was finally diagnosed correctly. I never knew that I was bipolar and once I was on the right medications life opened up for me.
I’m more self-aware now than I’ve ever been and I’m fairly happy with things other than getting laid off. Stress triggered my depression so lately it’s been really rough.
When famous people whom I admire are this open and honest it makes me feel better, makes me feel less alone.
Thank you.
Tears running down my face at the depth of emotion behind this speech. What a wonderfully candid statement. My respect for Wil Wheaton has grown by leaps and bounds.
Brilliant! Thank you.
beware of medication it made everything worse for my family. whole food was the only thing that really helped.
Thank you Wil for sharing this. My name is Kylene and I have lived with depression for over 35 years. I am no longer ashamed and speak out every chance I get. I reblogged this on my blog and also shared on Facebook. I always feel that if I can help one person, it is worth it
Thank you. Keep up the good work.
I just want to thank you for writing this. My family doesn’t have any history of mental illness, so when I finally identified my issues as depression and anxiety, I felt like I failed my parents. Like you, though on a much smaller scale, my life is great. I have loving parents, two great sisters, a great job, a wonderful dog, I went to some of the best universities for my undergrad and graduate degrees. So struggling so much to feel grateful sometimes is hard. I feel like I don’t have the right to be depressed because I’ve been so blessed. Reading your piece has helped me reconcile that my mental health is not tied to the quality of my life. It’s not an insult to the joys in my life to suffer depression regardless. Thank you for helping me get perspective on that.
Best,
Samantha
Thank you, Wil.
I’m having a moderate sized panic attack right now. I’m waiting for a train because planes make me break out in a sweat that looks like a CGI waterfall.
Trains? Just short of breath and wet hair.
I’m hanging in and taking another step.
So Wil, I suffered from chronic, debilitating depression from about age 14 to 52. I used to call it “The Grey” – it was like this heavy grey film that would bloom in my mind, and then flow down in front of my face, over my eyes and numb my heart. And “The Grey” was heavy – I was exhausted from carrying it around. I kept hoping that something would dissolve The Grey, but it never did. By time I was 52 I spent my adult years being depressed, doubting my abilities and having a really bad body image. Surprisingly, the one light in my life was an amazingly supportive and loving husband. But the solution to curing the chronic depression in my life, was surgery for diverticulitis, through a procedure called a partial colectomy. Essentially, the remove the diseased lower third (two feet) of your colon, then hook the remaining four feet up. No colostomy, no ileostomy. Not only did I recover, but the depression lifted. In consulting with my doctor and my shrink, what three of think happened with me was that I was most likely born with bowel pain. I was colicky as a baby and had horrific gut pain growing up that the doctors thought was something I was doing for attention. By college, I was so used it, that I had no idea it was there. but it was and it was taking a mental toll on me. By 52, we did the surgery. Evidently, my gut and mind were interconnected! The byproduct was no more attacks (I am still terrified of my trigger foods), and my mood is no longer dire, save for SADD from October to January. I wake up now without physical pain, and I still have hurdles, but I can get through day without being at worst before the surgery. My point in relating this is depression can start in many ways, and it can happen in anybody. And sometimes, we live with it never being able to shake it. Other times, there is a physical trigger that you would never imagine. What I advise people – and I am not a doctor – is to take each day as it comes, get a good G.P. who listens to you, find a good counselor who listens to you, do a self assessment of which foods, events, colors, smells, tastes, activities or events impact you, and discuss that with both sets of doctors and your loved ones. Make sure both treatment, mind and body, are on the same side. And stay away from people who promise to cure you. Every person is different. What work for me, by accident, may not work for anyone else. But taking charge of something is the first step to getting better. And getting better starts with one thing a day that you can do for yourself.
Thank you for this. I have been suicidal off-and-on since I was seven years old. I got help 25 years ago. Now I am on a three medication regime that make me feel like myself again. Now, though, I have to find a new doctor because mine wants me off of my anti-anxiey med. This will be fixed! I am not ashamed of my mental illness. Because of you I am no longer afraid to talk about it.
I love you Will. Thanks for your courage in speaking out. I have bipolar and PTSD so I get it. I try whenever I can to advocate for all of us who struggle to break the stigma. If we all work together one day we may be understood. In the meantime we who have this struggle need to reach out to those who suffer not only with mental health disorders, but people who struggle with other challenges.
Your advice is spot on. God bless you.
I never had any idea of such struggles until my youngest’s eating disorder opened my eyes. Let me tell you – the agony of that slap was life altering. Both my beloved girls have their own struggles – I feel so much more equipped than I did but still so lost. Thank you for such an audacious, well-written explanation. True honest open care and understanding for others – THIS is the final frontier. May we all be open to the journey.
Thank you.
When I was in my early 40s, with two young children, underemployed, and over scheduled, I was in the middle of what I referred to as the sad time. I went to my doctor, convinced it must be something physiological, and after running many tests he said, “you’re just depressed.” JUST depressed. Going on anti-anxiety medication was like opening windows in a stuffy house and letting in fresh air. But when my mother told my uncle that I was depressed he said “what does she have to be depressed about?” When I told a friend I’d known since high school he said, “you’ve always been depressed.” My father told me to talk myself out of it, even though he himself had undiagnosed depression. It’s totally changed my outlook on mental health. As it becomes more discussed it will lose the stigma it’s held in the past.
I’m so glad you’re getting the help you need to enjoy life and deal with depression.
THANK YOU, THANK YOU…Wil Wheaten!!! Your personal story has finally reached the ends of the Earth…Tasmania!! I have suffered from lifelong depression, anxiety & PMDD, and have always felt it hard when subjected to the stigma and prejudice that many have for those who suffer mental illness. THANK YOU for helping to break down that stigma…and for being an encouragement to fellow sufferers around the World. BLESS YOU…!!!
I love the tone of of this article. So many dealing with this need support and a “non-guilting” attitude from the people around them, and giving themselves the gift of self-nurturance and self-acceptance.
I think it is important to always be seeking undiagnosed medical issues that can contribute to anxiety and depression. Hormonal and neurotransmitter malfunctioning, genetic factors, and food allergies and intolerances can do a lot without our even being aware of their existance. The MTHFR gene variant is one such that impairs a lot of different systems in the body. Treating it by making specific dietary and nutritional changes has helped a lot.
I am 65 and have had depression and anxiety since I was a small child. I didn’t really know what to call the depression until I was 16 and, at that time, I still had no real understanding about where it came from, why I was different, and that it was more of a disease than a mere flaw in my thought process.
The anxiety didn’t kick in fully until I was in my 30’s. I say that it didn’t kick in “fully” because I can look back on my childhood and early teen years and remember times when I was inconsolable over a first day of school or a class grade. But the actual and most terrifying moments in full panic attack mode that caused me to fear I was dying came along in my 30’s.
I did seek help, but the help of medications, counselors, and psychiatrists have mostly been wasted on me for most of my adult life. I consider myself intelligent, and can think of many instances in which I have intellectually known when I was having a Chronic Depression moment, or moments of Acute Anxiety, yet with all that understanding, I would still see myself as hopeless, helpless, and sinking deeper and deeper.
Over the years I have read volumes about Mental Illness, joined NAMI, and even completed a class to become a Certified Peer Recovery Specialist. (I didn’t follow through with that certification and put it to use because of more required classes and not enough money to get totally immersed in the field.)
I have gone through, and still go through, the low self-esteem; feelings of worthlessness; believing I am not worthy of friends; self deprecating thoughts and actions; and the pure misery of believing that no one really understands me or can love me for who I am. I honestly feel I will never get “better” and, along with physical illnesses, I will live out the rest of my life dreading tomorrow.
I rarely get out of the house even though I have no fear of leaving home. I just see no real reason to. It’s living in a fairy tale to believe anyone and everyone can gain total control over mental illness and lead pseudo-normal lives. No. There are thousands, if not millions, out there who are unable to reach that goal. That is my reality and has been for as long as I can remember.
However, I am thankful there are people like you who can reach out and make a difference in so many people’s lives; a person who can stand in front of a crowd and help people deal with the rotten cards they have been dealt. Thanks, Wil, for all you do to bring Mental Illness to the forefront.
Thank you for this brilliantly detailed speech on anxiety and depression. My husband has suffered from anxiety since he was a child, always thinking it was just stomach aches. In his early twenties, it was shooting pains in the chest and left arm, visiting several cardiologists to make sure his heart was OK. He finally understood, in his late twenties, that it was anxiety. Same macho society never let him try to express what he felt so he just shoved it in until the pressure was too much. I believe it was a few months into our marriage that he just couldn’t keep it together one night and I sat him down and told him that he should seek help; if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to live his life the way he wanted to. He did. He sought help, got the right medication and now we are about to celebrate our 4th wedding anniversary with a beautiful 1-year-old daughter. He is continuously checking in with his doc as new things unfold in his life and that has kept him going well. Thank you, thank you, thank you from the botttom of my heart for sharing your story. We (the by-standers and significant others) are always in constant look out for others’ experiences so we can learn more and be better for our families/friends/partners.
Thanks for sharing your truth which will help many people. I plan on reading this to my half-grown sons as soon as possible. Thank you and bless your wife for her wise compassion. You guys should write a book about a couple’s journey through these issues.
I truly commend you, Wil, for your honesty & openness about a subject that is often clouded & hidden. I also suffered from depression for most of my life, but especially from my teens thru my 30s, tho I didn’t have panic attacks to the extent that you did. It revved into top gear when I was diagnosed with cancer nearly 20 years ago but that was when I finally received antidepressants, which helped a lot. Unfortunately, after about 3 years, the antidepressants began inter-reacting with my pain medication for arthritis & causing precursors to seizures. I had to choose between the two meds & chose to continue pain meds so I could continue to exercise, walk & work on my laptop without extreme pain. I did ok till I lost my soul-mate 3 months ago, after 34 years of marriage. Depression reared its ugly head again & I still have to battle it without the weapon of an antidepressant. Luckily, I have family & friends to help me thru this unbearable experience. It also helps to hear from people like yourself. Your experience also reminds me of Jonathan Brandis. If only he had known someone in his life to help him like your wife did, maybe he could have avoided suicide & lived past 27. Keep speaking out. You never know whom you might be helping.
Thank you Wil Wheaton. It is so important for people who have the spotlight use it for the highest good. That is what you have done today. It matters. It reaches people in a way that others can’t always achieve.
My son lives with mental illness. Our family also has a history of mental illness. It is nobody’s fault.
Our family chooses to be open about it. I take many opportunities to educate people so that they understand that we are just a normal family trying to get by. We won’t let this lousy genetic trick that was heaped upon us ruin our lives.
Stigma busting. It’s a way of life.
I’ve also lived with depression, anxiety, and panic attacks for what seems like forever. I’m here to state emphatically that people like us are NOT weak (as so many people believe). Exactly like people with any other chronic or acute illness, we are STRONGER than non-sufferers could ever know. Telling our stories helps others feel less stigmatized, less broken, and less alone; so thank you, Wil, for sharing yours.
Absolutely wonderful. Thank you for your courage.
Thank you, Wil. My very close friend forwarded this to me, and I’m so very grateful for that. I’ve struggled with depression and sometimes (particularly more recently) its best friend, anxiety, for most of my life, but I seemed to manage it somewhat by surrounding myself with close family and friends as much as possible and being highly active in my chosen art form, music. I used to be fairly ok and then go through occasional depressive states that would last a few months at the very most.
After I lost my job and my band split up a few years ago, and it’s been downhill since… I’ve fallen into that trap of feeling like the only way to not feel depressed is to turn it into a numb apathy when I can, or to self-medicate with binge-eating, alcohol, or pot. My depression has caused me to self-harm, neglect my health and hygiene, and has negatively affected my work life and personal relationships. I can’t have guests, because I’ve let my bedroom become a place no one would be comfortable in (and yet, that’s where I spend all of my time when I’m at home). I can’t date, because my self-esteem is so low that I keep attracting toxic partners. I feel like I may someday truly feel like I have no purpose and nothing to live for, and that scares the crap out of me. My friends are starting to worry, i think, but sometimes I can feel them pull away, too, because when I’m down, I’m very hard to be around. They don’t know what to do for me, and I feel tremendous guilt for them having to deal with me.
I know I need medication, and you telling your story has inspired me to finally, after years of this crap, take care of my illness and get the proper treatment.
I feel better having gotten all this out, so, thanks for the outlet as well. I wish you the best, Wil!
Wow. I have shared this on my facebook encouraging everyone to do the same, because this could literally save lives. If I had read it 20 years ago it could have helped me a lot. Luckily I was only in my 20s when I finally found someone to say…”you have depression, take some pills” and that moment realising I was normal and had an illness, rather than being some horrible freak and bad person…wow. I think that helped as much as the pills.
Rather than purely an eloquent personal account, also contains genuine advice and clear calls to action for decision makers in government.
Thank you. I’m in tears. How can a voice be so familiar, but I don’t hear my own?
Wow!! I really appreciate your honest explanation of the symptoms you encountered as a child suffering with chronic depression. As a mom who sees these same behaviors in my son everyday I totally missed the mark and it never crossed my mind to think that he too maybe suffering from depression. Thank you so much for enlightening me today. This has really opened my eyes as how to move forward and get help for him.
Thanks again for your truth
#truthmovement
stay strong <3
Thank you so much for sharing this. My 12 year old is starting to experience signs of anxiety, which won’t go without help. I will show this to her; maybe it’ll help her see that she is not alone in this. Thank you again for this.
Wil, I have always been impressed with your ability to talk so openly and unapologetically about your depression and anxiety. I live with both. And honestly I had no clue just how much I was suffering until I got help. My anxiety and depression are compounded by the fact that I am also an empath. That alone can make the world a treacherous place for me. But it magnifies the depression and anxiety to a level that a lot of people don’t understand. I preach self-care. It is so very important to take the time to do the things we need to do for ourselves just to be able to function and recharge. Thank you for continuing to share your story and I hope some mother out there is reading your words and a lightbulb is going off because you helped her realize something she didn’t see before. It takes a village. ❤️
I can’t even put into words how I felt reading this.
Diagnosed with Chronic Depression & Anxiety Disorder almost 12 months ago. Your words mean so much more than I ever thought possible.
I’m in my 40’s and often wonder how I’ll reach 50. Next time I wonder, I will read this.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you, Wil.
Thank you.
This is an extremely classist view on mental illness. Nice advice on how to deal with it, have any advice for people who aren’t rich and famous? People who are poor? I’ve had mental illness my whole life and I find this super hard to relate to. All you have is time to work on yourself. Someone who works 60 hours a week is lucky they have time to take care of themselves at all, nevermind go on scenic walks and do yoga and meditate. Smfh
A nicely penned piece, i think it will be well received. I’ve always felt life is a bit like a maze where you have to try to navigate to whatever goal it is you want, some goals are easier to reach than others but life is never a straight forward thing with only one path and luck always plays a part. I personally suffer with recurring bouts of severe depression and anxiety where some evil twisted thing has made it impossible for me to find a path that leads anywhere, the signs are turned around or missing, paths always seem to be deadends or traps. I’ve been lucky to have a supportive family and receive help from professionals including CBT which helps give the tools to get past the traps and climb over the deadends, something people without an understanding of mental illness think you should just do anyway not realising how much grueling effort goes into doing even simple things.
Thank you for standing up in public to talk about this issue, I know if must be very hard and I admire your bravery. Hopefully one day mental illness will not be the taboo it is now and those suffering will not be looked at as abnormalities to hidden from polite society.