Going Mental

Recently I heard a national speaker give her presentation. She was, as you’d expect, fantastic. She was all polish and charisma, sporting a smartly cut blonde bob, stylishly dressed with the right accessories and height of heel, and she delivered a strong, approachable speech. The kind of speech that said she is an Every Woman from the Midwest sharing life stories of public speaking fears, and business debacles, and family dramas anyone could relate to. The room was a dance of bobbing heads and knowing smirks. A chorus of sighs and clipped laughs—the nervous kind that say I know just what you mean.

Then, she talked about the lies we tell ourselves and then to other people. That there are two she has found to be universal no matter what City or state she speaks in: Don’t tell the truth and Everything is OK. I’m sure the room continued with the song and dance, but I became very silent and still. The Universe is persistent.

It’s true that over the years I’ve written numerous emotionally hard blogs, the kind where I am doing what Oprah would describe as the ‘ugly cry,’ blubbering in my glass of Merlot alone in my office, infusing every word with grief. But put me in front of a live human being and I will smile. With the exception of a very few, I simply don’t do crying in front of others.

Lately though, I’ve been questioning the health of this. About the broader message I am part of, by only showing everything is OK motivated by don’t tell the truth.

Maybe you don’t smile. Maybe you give out stellar advice, or crush it at work, or throw a perfect dinner party, you have your own ways to show everyone everything is OK. Life is good. We don’t tell the truth. We strive to show perfection because I suppose this is what we want. What we think everyone else has except for us— perfect lives.

I am lucky because for the most part, my life is pretty easy. I have luxuries I take for granted and opportunities that come unbidden. I feel the least I can do is be happy about it, and I’ve practiced how to hold up my end of the deal. I play my part.

I am questioning my part now because of people like Mark*. I met Mark at an art gallery opening, of which he was a featured artist. He gave the impression of being in his late twenties due to his boyish round face, his shaggy blonde hair, and the obvious effort he made to dress well in an outdated tie with pants that didn’t fit quite right, black tennis shoes peeking out from the bottom. His awkward dress made him charming, and the joy of his art that beamed from his ear-to-ear smile made him endearing.

I am always eager to speak with artists and I spent an hour that evening with Mark, sitting at a table viewing his portfolio, talking about art and music and broken hearts, while drinking glasses of fruit punch and exchanging twin smiles. It was a lovely chance encounter with a remarkable community member.

About six months later, I learned Mark had committed suicide. I thought he was well, but everything was not OK.

This idea of being perfect in the world is something that has been on my mind as I struggle with personal matters myself and because May is Mental Health Month. When we think about mental health, it’s easy to think of depression, or bi-polar, or schizophrenia; maybe it’s the Aunt who has suffered from “something” we’ve heard about in whispers all our lives, but never talk about openly. Mental health is portrayed as a dichotomy of rigid, impersonal definitions and perpetuated myths.

Mental health is fluid, our sense of well-being only a phone call or email away from being utterly shattered. If we’re lucky, we have the genetic make-up to endure whatever life throws at us, and eventually heal. If we’re really lucky, we have people in our lives that will help us, whom we don’t have to be perfect around and will love us anyway.

But we’re not all lucky. Some people’s brain chemistry is off balance and is expressed by unhealthy mental and emotional states. This can also work in reverse, when we suffer an emotional shock, it can abruptly change the chemistry in our brains and we have situational depression. People who struggle with mental health are no more at fault for their symptoms and their need for help, than the diabetic who needs insulin. Both are often non-life-threating situations— assuming you get properly diagnosed and manage your condition.

We have a weird stigma about mental health though. The best of us never let anyone see something is wrong, we think it’s a weakness. I do. And I can’t help but wonder how this is helping anyone. I don’t think it is, and perhaps makes the Marks of the world feel that much more isolated in times of darkness when he only sees dazzling smiles.

Everything is not OK. I do not have a perfect life. Sometimes my life is really hard and I measure my success for the day if I made the bed and took a shower. Like today.

I’m telling the truth. And I think it’s going to be OK.

“Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything. That’s how the Light gets in.”

- Leonard Cohen, Anthem

May is Mental Health Month. If you live in the north metro, you can participate in numerous ways to support those who struggle with mental health and/or become aware of mental health issues. The Mercy Unity Hospitals Foundation is raising funds for the next five years to invest in the community’s needs for mental health issues. The Lee Carlson Center for Mental Health and Well Being in Fridley offers services for children and families in Anoka County. You can also find more info from NAMI (the National Alliance on Mental Health)

*Not his real name.

Photo: The Scream by Edvard Munch