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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Dear Wil, The knock down blow of clinical depression hit me in my fifties, with the generalized anxiety disorder being the black carpet that led it straight to me in terrible manifestations. Like you, I had no idea that the precursors to these insidious attacks on our state of mental well being had begun when I was a kid, then a teen, into young adulthood, and coming to a peak in my forties and fifties. I was just considered the way-out, edgy entertaining member of the family or band of buddies; always quick with a wise crack, capable with writing poetry, picking up a bass guitar and playing well enough to join up with my pals in high school in a rock and roll band in the seventies. I could do whatever I wanted, long as it was my decision to do it. The rushes of anxiety that began to hit in my twenties I considered just the result of being me, but getting older. I stopped smoking pot when it began to care and worry me instead of mellowing me out. From then on, marriage and having two children made me alter myself as best as I could to be responsible, taking a job in mental health, ironically, but being very happy there as activities director at an outpatient clinic for adults with persistent mental illnesses. I had automatic, natural empathy. I had my first panic attack when out in the wilderness with a van-load of clients. Thought I was dying. Miraculously got back to the city and made a beeline to my favorite on-staff psychiatrist. She told me what had happened. My internist put me on Paxil, and 15 yrs later I suffered the nightmare of withdrawal. That was when my depression kicked in. Like nothing before…not even close. A monster of self doubt of the value of my existence that laid me out on the sofa where i would pray my Rosary until saving sleep would give me a break from the torment. I had to wait 3 months to be seen by a psychiatrist who was able to get me stabilized on meds, and have been fully functional ever since. He is a fine physician and has informed me that there is a likelihood that I might need these meds for the rest of my life to keep the chemical imbalance from overwhelming me again. Whatever it takes not to go back to that shadowy realm. I’m no pushover. I grew up in urban Rochester, and my brothers, cousins, friends, all ran around getting into scrapes with other crews of stupid kids. I bounced in a club in the late seventies, and am not afraid of a physical confrontation when necessary. But there is nothing like the fear of that thing called clinical depression. My family never brings it up. It’s as if they would prefer that it just stay in check and never come up again. My wish, too. But it is a bit off putting to live with this, though it be under control, as if it doesn’t exist. Thank you for your dedication to getting the word out. The world acts as if it doesn’t exist until something happening to someone makes it clear that it does.
Thank you Will for sharing your story! I and my daughter suffer from anxiety and depression. You have spoken right from my heart.
That was beautiful, Whil Wheaton. As a total stranger who has no reason to care, let me tell you that, as a fellow human being, I’m so proud of you! 🙂
Dear Will. Hugs. I know. I understand. You have the voice. Keep using it. Even when your days are without color and it’s a struggle to get out of bed. Get up. Get dressed. Get talking. People who think they are alone will hear.
Great article, thanks for sharing Will. Depression and Anxiety are more common than we know and anytime it is publicly acknowledged, another person is prompted to seek help for the disease.
That was fabulous, Wil Wheaton. You described my feelings and gave pictures to them. I have finally found the right Dr’s and the right meds at 59 years of age. Your writing is brilliant and spot on. Thank you.
Thank you so much for sharing your life with the world!
Thank you. So much I want to say, but keep taking care of yourself, too.
Thank you Wil,
I too have have depression. I went to a therapist twice a week for months and finally had to go on medication also. Thru treatment I was found to have been depressed from High School on. I have been on Medication from 2000 and like you I am not ashamed anymore to admit what I went thru. The excess, trying to kill myself and always hiding it from my family. Letting others know that they are not alone and just listening to them is the best. If you been there you know you have to hit bottom before you ask for help.
Looking forward to seeing you on the cruise.
Thank you for your courage…in sharing your story… I read it and saw myself at least 100 times.. This too had been my life since I was 12 years old. You were able to put how I gave felt so perfectly into words.. Thank you so much! I am so happy for you.. that you are living now and not just existing… I am too… And I am grateful to my husband and doctors for there compassion and care. Keep LIVING life Will!!
Thank you for sharing this Will. You are a beautiful human being.
Thank you.
Thank you, Will.
I cried for you for all the missing experience in your young years. Please accept a gentle virtual hug.
Love from Germany.
Thank you, Will.
I cried for you for all the missing experience in your young years. Please accept a gentle virtual hug.
Love from Germany.
As someone who struggles with panic disorder and OCD, I am right here with you. And yiu are right, it does get better .You are a champion of mental illness sufferers everywhere for being totally unashamed. You are the reason the stigma is slowly being eroded. So much love.
Thank you for sharing Hwil Hweaton! You spoke of SO many things I have thought, think, feel, and struggle with on a daily basis. My daughter as well, unfortunately. It’s a debilitating condition that I’ll never full understand and that those who don’t have it pass judgement. You’re a beautiful human being, stay frosty!
Oh, and congrats on your reelection to the Oasis User Council.
Hi,
As a 33 year old man who is currently suffering from Anxiety, Depression, PTSD and obsessive behaviour and has been on and off suicidal recently, your story has given me hope.
I started taking anti-depressants, but I am only getting glimpses of ‘living’, and my patience has been running very thin recently.
You’ve helped me to the the light at the end of the tunnel ( and it’s not a train ).
Thank you. I really look forward to being ‘normal’.
Thank you. I resonated with it all. My journey wasn’t triggered until I was 12. I was severely bullied in Gr 7 I had to go under a doctors care for anxiety. It grew into chronic depression after I had my fourth child and had Post partum depression.
As I’m nearing 60 I know who I am and strive to help others. Speak Up! We are all Beautiful Souls. ♥️
Thank you Will for sharing.
I am a Christian and I don’t view mental illness as a lack of faith! Get real!
Thank you for sharing and being bold in your declaration. As someone with PTSD and Depression it’s heart warming to know someone I look up to and admire goes through the same day I do.
Thank you for this inspiring account of your struggles. I made the call and have an appointment with my doctor on Wednesday …. thanks again for sharing
I’m a longtime fan, since Stand By Me… my kids and I have a monstrous collection of board games and play D&D together, and I work as a Peer Support Specialist supporting others who struggle with mental illness, like me. 🙂 I can tell from your post, you feel that same calling, to reach out and encourage people to speak up and out about their suffering, to support each other, and to promote wellness for individuals and communities. You’re doing a helluva job, dude. You inspire a lot of people to transform their vulnerabilities into their strengths, and find their inner warrior. It takes more courage to stand up and deliver those words than almost anything else I can think of. I’m a U.S. Army vet, and nothing was ever as scary as admitting I needed help. Keep on truckin’!
I appreciate you and your willingness to be open and share! Thank you for putting your specific voice to this. Keep it up!
This was beautifully written. You have a knack for explaining the inexplicable.
Thank you Wil. And it does take a lot of courage to come forth, shrug off the stigmas associated with mental health and say this is me!
I’m in the What-Ifs serious anxiety paradox myself. Always thinking what if this happens, what if that happens. Thinking if I could go back in time I would change this and that. I’ve suffered with depression and anxiety since I was a child (turning 40 this year). It really does impact every facet of your life. With myself, it cripples my body in so much pain at times I can barely move. But I don’t let it run my life. But finally after years of waiting, I’m getting the help I need to maybe help me learn to live with this instead of telling myself I’m strong and don’t want to be looked down on by my peers. We aren’t designed, as a species to be flooded with all of this negative news all the time, to eat most of the garbage we put in our bodies, to just sit around and do nothing but work and pay bills. I’ve always been a fan of yours. I’ve watched TNG at least 9 times through and love his Tabletop series. You never really think about these people that have made it big suffering but look at some of the ones we have lost due to mental illness, because the supports were not there or the signs were missed. Thank you for writing this Wil! And like you, my lovely partner has really supported me as I’m going through an extremely rough time and she has really urged me to get the help I need.
So many things to say …. and yet not one word can I find. ‘THANK YOU” for this. It means a great deal to me, and I presume countless others. glantz
You know how when someone says something and you’re like … “I’m not alone!” … you just did that for me.
Your statement, “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.” … that’s the best description of my life ever and I have always struggled to find the words to explain it. Thank you.
I grew up with ST: TNG and loved it. And no, I didn’t dislike Wesley, Wil’s character at the time. Being nearly the same age, I looked up at ‘Wesley ‘ and wanted to be bright like him.
Like all fans, I had no idea the anxiety Wil was/is struggling with. It now makes kinda sense to me why Wil disappeared from the show, a decision which is perfectly understandable. It reminds me of Michael o’Hare who played Cmdr. Sinclair in B5. He also disappeared from the show due to mental health issues. After his death it was revealed he struggled with delusions.
It takes courage to keep going in such dire circumstances and even more to share your illness with the world.
I’ve suffered from gender-dysphoria since age 11, which also causes anxiety, depression and questioning your self-worth. There is a high suicide rate among transgenders.I took the leap to come out last year and never looked back.
You are a brave man, Wil Wheaton. I hope your contribution will make depression and other disorders better understood by the general public. These things need to be taken seriously.
I wasn’t diagnosed with depression and anxiety until I was 34. My parents also did not know what the problem was or how to get me help. Even after my suicide attempt at 19, they still thought it was mind over matter and I just needed to “pull myself up by my bootstraps.”
Now we know it’s an illness and that we can’t just decide to not be anxious and depressed. We can’t use force of will to fix it.
Thank you for telling your story. You and Jenny are my idols.
Thank you. So so much for coming out and saying these things, it is so important.
About three years ago maybe you ruined my day. I read either an interview or a blog post where you also detailed the story of walking with your wife and realizing that you actually felt good. I cried so hard thinking about how amazing that would be. I’ve struggled with anxiety and depression most of my life, and at the time I didn’t think I was “sick enough” to need treatment. I thought that I should be able to just suck it up and move on, that my struggle was a character flaw. When I read that story I was so jealous of you, I couldn’t imagine ever just feeling ok and that hurt so much I cried and cried.
Later your story inspired me to look at treatments for anxiety and everything I found pointed to therapy over meds. At the time I didn’t have the funds for that, so I looked at what I could do on my own. I’ve been journaling and utilizing CBT apps when things get rough, and it has helped a bit but I still struggled so much.
At the end of last year I realized I couldn’t go on without help. I made a doctors appointment and was prescribed an antidepressant, and did notice some difference. Not a lot, but sort of a “leg up” I felt like I could function more on a daily basis. I had to find another doctor though after I had a terrible experience with the one who first prescribed the antidepressant.
It took a bit but I found someone. She is amazing and supportive. She had me answer a bunch of questions regarding my symptoms and after several minutes looked at me and said “well first thing, I want to put you on the max dose” we talked about it and decided to slowly up my dose (along with incorporating other treatment options). I never imagined that I could be afforded such relief, especially after the fairly minimal improvement I’d experienced when first prescribed.
I had forgotten about reading your interview until I was in my yard a few weeks ago and noticed the birds singing. I was weeding the garden bed and for the first time I was really “there” I didn’t feel like I had the whole scary world and all of my obligations at my back waiting to feast on me. I was just weeding the garden enjoying a beautiful day and noticed the birds singing. It was amazing. I remembered what you had said and realized I’d come through to that place too.
Thank you again.
Wow. This is incredible to read. I am a parent with 2 adult children who have suffered terribly and struggled through for years with this illness. I am a nurse and remember talking to a man when he saw the doctor about his depression. He broke down telling me how weak and pathetic he is that he needed help. I asked him if he would see a doctor if he had strep throat, or maybe diabetes. He said of course he would. I told him that accepting help, medication, education etc for his illness is no different. We must help people accept this is another illness for which there IS help. Hiw terrible that we would consider not treating it. If we didn’t take insulin if we needed it, we would die. Sad to say that mental illness can end up the same way.
Be kind to others who are suffering is doable. Being kind to ourselves, yourself, seems so much harder and out of reach yet we MUST.
SHUT UP WESLEY!… for real though I appreciate that you are speaking on a touchy subject. It takes a lot of strength to be honest enough with yourself to try to help others. Thank you
So relatable and yet another reason you are one of the best and admirable human beings to exist!
You are an inspiration and I hope your words benefit many other like us or help people understand and help those who suffer.
Thank you, sir.
Hey, Wil.
We’ve met once in real life (when you were stumpin’ for Hill-dawg. Fight that good fight, we’ll all get there together some day), we’ve talked on here a time or two (mostly because I don’t know how to code). Still, I want to let you know how grateful I am for the authenticity of our interactions. It took me til my 30’s to get help, get in therapy, and get on meds, too. Your writing was a big help in getting me over the initial hurdles, as well as the “I’ve tried this and it didn’t work” hurdles. Thank you.
You are a good person. I’m Midwestern, so I have to say “Sorry, but it’s true,” but I hope you continuously feel less and less like you have to apologize for yourself. One of the recurring themes in the comments on here is appreciation for those genuine interactions that folks have with you. Heck, I doubt it would be much of a stretch to say that people keep coming back for the genuine. Not for the fame, certainly not to make played out Star Trek jokes. But because you’re a real person, and that real person who you are is good.
Scritch Marlowe behind the ears for me, and she’ll give you the “How are you so bruteful and good?” look, and you’ll know. Thanks for everything.
Mazel Tov, dude!
I applaud you. I deal with Depression and Anxiety every day. I choose not to take a drug, but if that works for you that’s fine, too. I do Mindfulness and I create as much as I can. I try and exercise and watch what I eat.
Here’s the thing: it’s the shame that gets to people. And you and I have nothing to be ashamed of. Keep on doing your good stuff. Bravo! I applaud you.
Shalom from Boston, MA
Thank you for sharing. This has made my day. As sorry as I am that you had to deal with this for so long without comfort, it truly makes me feel better to not be alone in this craziness. I go day to day without medication, my choice, but I understand the fear and uncertainty that goes with coping. My corgi is my best therapy, my significant keeps me sane, and the drive to do something with myself keeps me from expressing my uncertainties.
I too have dealt with this struggle of anxiety and depression since, before I can put orders to memories. I grew up in a home that knew depressions face, and anxieties daily calls. Yet i was told it was night terrors, or the growing up normalcies. I grew up feeling like an alien, because normal children weren’t afraid of the nothing abnormal stuff I was, and normal kids were fearless to do new things. I grew up scared.
I went into the adult world knowing something was wrong but with no validation. It wasn’t until a few years ago I got my real diagnosis. I hope more people like you, in the public face, come forward. It truly hindered me from being more. I’m happy to be me today, and people like you continually give me hope.
knowing that you have gotten so far with your struggles gives me hope that I can too. It inspires me to push harder against my problems.
thank you.
we need more people to be as transparent with they’re struggles.
your newest fan.
Jaq
I’m 40. I have dysthymia with dips into major depressive episodes in the classic two-week window required for a diagnosis. I have frequently felt suicidal. Friends who have had luck with mental health treatment have been trying to get me to get help since I was about 21. I went to the doctor when I was 23 because I, too, felt like I didn’t have to suffer any more. Tried Paxil without success, varying the doses. Tried Effexor without success, again, making my due diligence. No luck. Maybe five years after that I sought help with a therapist who made it her mission to get me to a doctor, apparently not believing my experiences, or at least wanting me to try another. About a year ago my GP told me it was cheaper to try Zoloft than do genetic testing, and it markedly increased my depression and suicidal ideation. I was willing to give it the full six weeks, but after four, my doctor and my wife said it was probably best to come off it… and of course try something else. I have friends who have tried twice or three times as many meds. Every time I have tried either therapy or medication, though, the results have not been conclusive. For every story like yours, where you get help and it works, and for every story where there are people who should get help, there are also stories of people who try to get help and the help doesn’t work. It’s dispiriting due to the nature of depression– I’m high functioning and feel like I’m faking, so maybe I’m not depressed? But it’s also dispiriting because all people tell me is to keep trying, and after awhile the people who really know what they’re talking about feel just as annoying as the well-meaning friend who’s sure a cure lies in diet, exercise and deciding not to be depressed.
I want to stress the importance of the post by Chris Seggerman, because over 1/3 of the people with depression never fully recover (remit) and many don’t respond at all to current treatments (that’s including ALL treatments). Treatment resistant depression is a horrific disease. That is why every voice that speaks out about depression also needs to stress the importance of continued research in the field of depression treatment. I too am a high functioning faker, and I think people would be astonished to learn how many people master the art of getting through life this way. But as long as there is some small hope that one will eventually feel better it is possible for many of us to continue living (or trying our best).
Chris Seggerman and Beverly both address TREATMENT RESISTENT DEPRESSION. I have been living with depression and anxiety since at least age 13, according to the first of now 8 therapists I started seeing at age 28. I was a pediatric psychiatric nurse and so felt it was normal to seek help for what I called my broken soul. But after a total of 10 years of various, on and off psychotherapies (now called ‘talk therapy’) I finally decided, at age 40, that my problem was purely of a brain chemistry nature, considering my life had been thus far trauma free. I tried St John’s wart and felt significant relief – for 2 years. Then I sank back into what I call the ‘morass’ (def: an area of muddy or boggy ground). I saw a psychiatrist who prescribed Prozac, with no success, then Lithium, then a few other meds I no longer remember. Nothing. I continued to struggle quietly, my husband being the only one who knew of my depression and constant suicidal ideation. I saw my internist and described my problem by saying ‘I am just so emotionally tired’. He prescribed CELEXA and a miracle happened. I finally felt normal. Not euphoric, not without bad days. Just normal. And on days when the depression started to pull me down I could feel myself popping back up to the surface of my morass, like a cork being pushed down in water but when released, bobbing back up. My doc had told me that the only down side to this clean med (free of side effects) is that its effects tend to last about 5 years. Sure enough, and although I didn’t realize I had hit that marker, I started to struggle again. It took me 2 more years of vainly self increasing my dose and looking temptingly down the window of my hotel room during a 2 hour sobbing jag to decide to return to my internist. He referred me to a psychiatrist who specialized in psychotropic knowledge (read: prescribed exclusively, no talk therapy) and a 7 year morbid dance began. We tried EFFEXOR, WELLBUTRIN, ZOLOFT, LEXAPRO, etc, in increasing doses, or slowly discontinuing, then adding, combining, etc. My relief lasted about 4 to 6 months at a time before the morass claimed me again. BTW this professional, this psychiatric once said to me “you don’t look depressed. Are you sure it’s not just a habit you’re into”. Shoudda left him then! Didn’t have the energy… Finally he decided I was bipolar. No tests, just this flash of ‘insight’ on his part one day when HE was particularly hyper! Added Tegretol for mood disorder to the list. When I finally decided to also mention my constant but suddenly oberwhelming anxiety, he prescribed Xanax at the lowest possible dose and said something about it being just for comfort, making it sound as though my need to address my anxiety was more of a capriciousness.
I finally recently changed therapist, went through tests, genetic included, started seeing a talk therapist along with a prescribing psychiatrist. The test showed that I have, yes, severe clinical depression, but also ADHD (no surprise to me or to anyone who knows me. Also explains the length of this note, and all notes I ever write…) and, to my surprise, that my depression may be connected to ADHD. So ok, add Adderall. But, to finally make my point, after feeling increasingly better since the addition of Cymbalta 5 months ago, I am starting to struggle again. Despite being presently on Adderall, Cymbalta, Trazodone (to deal with the sleep disruption side effect of the Cymbalta), Wellbutrin, Tegretol, and Xanax, plus B6, B9, B12 to help heal my shredded nervous system, I feel like my depression is taking over again. And yes, I’m doing Tai Chi, eating well, journaling; I’m doing Cognative behavior therapy to change my mindset, I start each day with the mantra ‘today is a good day’, I force myself out of bed to run my house, garden, attend appointments. All that. So, yes, TREATMENT RESISTENT DEPRESSION is a horrific disease. I am now 65. All I want is to finally enjoy the years ahead with a calm, peaceful disposition. I am so happy for, and also so envious of all those for whom medication and/or talk therapy is the answer to keeping their depression under control. Thank you Chris Seggerman and Beverly for addressing this other side of depression. I don’t feel quite so much the freak of nature now.
Thank you for sharing yourself and being so honest. I’m so grateful to you for the way you wrote about your younger self as my daughter is the age you described first realizing you felt anxiety. We’ve already been taking steps to get her support for the anxiety she’s experiencing, and your words help me to know that this is the right thing and is helping me push aside the “am i overreacting” worry that keeps coming up. I’m sitting here feeling the power of other parents reading this, how they will take steps they might not have taken without reading your words. Thank you.
Amazing.
Thank you for this. Reading it, strong feelings came back. I wasn’t diagnosed with anxiety issues until 5 years ago and I am still dealing with it. So many years spent not knowing why I felt the way I did. To know someone else dealt with many of the same things as I (night terrors, random panic, tears) is reassuring and upsetting (no one should have to feel these things).
We are stronger than we see.
Thank you for sharing your story Wil. Check out my web site weatheringshame.com I was a TV weatherman here in Maine for 26 years and co-wrote a book with my wife on all you touched on. I continue my journey of recovery from the shame and stigma of Depression and Anxiety and speak around the State about it and have helped many but still at times struggle with believing that I do. It is an illness and I know what you wrote will help many..It was a good refresher for me today..Thanks
Thank you for sharing this.
I hope you read this, because I think I may be able to help you.
The panic attacks you have at night are almost certainly not panic attacks. They are called sleep or night terrors, common in children. I have them; they suck. When you have them, you are terrified and nothing anyone can say will convince you otherwise. I too have an impossibly strong urge to sleep somewhere else to escape the snakes/spiders/evil man in the closet.
Treatment is often with psychotherapy an antidepressants. However, night terrors are associated with sleep disordered breathing. If you haven’t already, get a sleep study. You could have sleep apnea. It’s common in males, up to 20% in one study! It happens in thin people too, usually due to your anatomy. Treatment of the apnea could make them go away altogether.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Night_terror
Wil,
Thank you for sharing. In the Wrestlmania of mental health, I have BiPolar/Anxiety as my tag team. Like you, I can remember having anxiety attacks as a child, except no one knew what they were. I was labeled a “drama queen” or a “worry wart.” When I got my Anxiety diagnosis in my thirties I was so grateful. Finally, something made since about the way my brain worked and the daily dread or downright paralyzing terror I would experience for “no good reason.” I wanted to make a t-shirt that read, “It really is all in my head!”
The BiPolar diagnosis was a little more difficult to process, but I worked through it. At 50, I’m not ashamed of my mental health. I fight hard to be “healthy” and I approach taking my meds and the self-care work it takes to maintain my equilibrium as equivalent to the healthcare management I would need if I were diabetic.
However, I am lucky. While I don’t have children or a spouse for support I do have a good job with excellent health insurance. This allows me affordable access to the prescription drugs I need as well as the ability to see my therapist on a regular basis. I have a supervisor with whom I can to share my diagnosis who still sees me as talented and competent enough to complete the complex duties and manage the stressful responsibilities my position demands.
I also have close friends who are there for me when I need it. They don’t judge. They accept me as I am, and understand if I’m having “a moment” or need to cancel a social engagement at the last moment.
It saddens me in this country that I feel like the exception to the rule. I’m so grateful when people who have a platform like yourself, Jared Padalecki, the late Patty Duke, etc… are so courageous to share their stories to raise awareness, educate, and create supportive communities.
Thank you.
SR
Thanks for sharing.i too am depressed. I share some of your other symptons too. I have a personal question for you. Were you ever involved in scientology ? I heard you were-years ago.
No. Scientology is a dangerous cult that destroys lives. I have never had anything to do with it.
Thank you for sharing this. It’s really well articulated and it will help a lot of people.
I have bi polar & am really struggling at the moment. I need help but all they do is mess about with my medication. Every day is almost unbearable, and because I carry on my daily life, nobody knows how I’m feeling. Life is not good at the moment.
Will say a prayer for you 🙏
You Rock Wil
Thank you so much!! This means so much to me, and I don’t doubt a great many more. This no doubt makes you a hero to many, myself included.
Will, I’ve been a fan of yours for decades and a reader of your blog since December of 2016. I am a mental health professional and someone who suffers from both depression and anxiety as well. My kids both suffer from mental illness, as does my husband. THANK YOU FOR THIS BLOG POST! Sincerely, and from the bottom of my heart, thank you. You (and Jenny Lawson) both inspire me and make me feel less alone. I don’t know what else to say even though my heart is full of things I want to express. Thank you so much for sharing your story with us. Thank you.
So wonderfully said! Thank you for speaking out and standing up!
Yes, yes, yes. Thank you for saying the truth. Bless you… and your dear wife. We are not alone.