My Mental Illness Manifesto

Dad and me in our backyard in Wichita circa 1970ish.

I belong to a huge club with many members, but every one of us would rather be someplace else. We didn’t choose this club. It chose us.

I come from a family deeply scarred by mental illness. After having his own father (my grandfather) in and out of mental hospitals during his childhood, my father fought bipolar disorder for several decades. He battled what he thought was depression for much of my childhood until a manic break from reality (the first of many) while I was in college divulged the true nature of his disease. I still have many good memories of my father. He loved watching all kinds of sports, hiking and fishing and trouncing us at board games. He passed on to me his affection for reading and writing, and, despite his advice to the contrary, I, too, became a journalist. He loved his kids and adored his granddaughters. I say all that because my dad was not his disease. Mentally ill people are people, before, during and after episodes of inner torment.

Dad with Papa on the family dairy farm near Krum, Texas, circa 1945.

The bulk of this post originally appeared on my first blog about a year ago, but this topic is so important that I’m updating the post and placing it prominently on my new blog. This is not a fun topic, but I know I need to address it. Good bloggers connect with their tribe. They take what they’ve experienced and attempt to turn it into lessons to encourage others. The problem with mental illness is that there is still a lot of stigma and ignorance out there. And people don’t enjoy talking about it because it sucks. Anyone who knows me knows I don’t use foul language and “sucks” crosses a line for me (my apologies to my southern mama who raised me to despise cuss words). But there’s something deep within my gut that mourns the havoc mental illness created in my family.

Without thinking long or hard at all, I can recall loved ones with depression, anxiety, OCD, PTSD,  personality disorder, bulimia, addictions… You get the idea. According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), one out of five Americans experience a mental illness. Of those ages 13 to 18, 20 percent have a mental health condition.

In our upper middle class suburb of 43,000 souls here in DFW, two teenagers took their own lives last spring. Of those who die from suicide, 90 percent have an underlying mental illness. Suicide is the tenth leading cause of death in the United States.

People, we need to seek out the mentally ill among us and show them love. We need to support their families. When someone breaks an arm or is diagnosed with cancer, everyone rallies around them. We don’t understand diseases of the mind. They don’t make sense because they are by their essence irrational. We need to rally anyway. We can listen and hug.

Part of showing love is putting ourselves out there as members of this club, both those who have loved a mentally ill person and those who have suffered themselves.

Because my family has been ravaged by mental illness, I feel the need to make sure others know about my membership in this not-at-all exclusive club. The way to reduce the stigma and ignorance is to be open about our struggles and to encourage those who are open with us.

Want to know more?

Here are a few resources:

• More information on NAMI and mental health issues: nami.org
• TED Talks on mental health
• Kay and Rick Warren, who lost their son to suicide, now champion mental health issues in the church: hope4mentalhealth.com
• To Write Love on Her Arms is a non-profit with the goal of bringing hope to those suffering from depression, addiction and self-harm and to those who love them or who have been impacted by a loved one’s suicide: twloha.com

If you or someone you love has a mental illness, please seek help from medical professionals, counselors and a supportive community. You are not alone.

So who is with me? Are you in my club?