The Real Conversation
Editor's note: Thank you, Josh for sharing your thoughts! Your continued strength and courage is very admirable, as is your stance on supporting others with mental illness.
I eat sweets when I’m sad or, at the very least, when something’s wrong. Chocolate usually. Truth be told, I don’t even like chocolate. Or really any sugary foods. I take pride in my appearance and health these days, so the presence of sugar would contradict my desired aesthetic. Everything in my diet is down to the decimal to enable the best me. Every specific nutrient. This is done for a range of reasons: general health and wellbeing, to be the best possible athlete, to exercise a healthy physical representation of my internal being, and to separate myself as much as possible from someone I used to be. I stubbornly want to show off who I am now, who I’ve become in combat of inner denial. I am proud of the person I have become; I want others to see me in this way. Not the version of myself in the past possessed by laziness and depression. I do not subscribe to who I was yesterday, let alone someone I was a year ago and a half ago. Someone I found self-destructive, someone I found hurting others around him due to a skewed, selfish outlook on life, and someone that found mental illness an excuse to be less. I don’t like to over-indulge in high fat or sugar content. A healthy diet and a consistent workout regime help me maintain a healthy relationship with myself and others. Seeing someone new, someone that truly feels like myself staring back at me in the mirror when I wake up makes me feel happy. Seeing that same person staring back at me in the mirror after a hard workout feels even more rewarding. That’s me. Not the sad, pathetic loser that would have ramen noodles slathered in BBQ sauce for breakfast because that’s all the food he had left due to spending his last twenty dollars on enough marijuana to get him through the night, just so he could translate the aloneness as anything but loneliness because he didn’t possess the level of mental stability necessary to look at time alone as anything but torture. When I identify with who I am now, it is not out of some misguided sense of irresponsibility; no, I take responsibility for the weak person I formally was, probably at times too much. I believe that’s where my fondness for sweets in times where tears should be present instead is born from. I only usually tend to fall into down states when it comes to past, unresolved issues that stem from someone that seems to continue to debilitate my current self. My former self. Hold the applause for such an unexpected twist of events. I know, such a shock. But this isn’t the latest Hollywood blockbuster starring whoever Disney and Marvel studios are pedalling as the next quirky but lovable leading star. This is the complexity of only one individual life amongst a sea of many. I eat sweets when I’m sad or, at the very least, when something’s wrong because despite desperately wanting to feel this sense of worth that we all reach for to make sense of life and its guarantee of suffering, I, in contrast, also want to be sad. I want something to be wrong. I reject who I used to be. They pushed away people who only wanted to help in a bid to cower and hide, they refused to take any form of personal responsibility because they had been hurt by others at times, they didn’t want to be better despite knowing they had what it took to one day realise greatness because that meant hard work, and, to put it simply, they weren’t good enough. To themselves or to others. I’d love to say I find it perplexing, why I decide to consume something I don’t like the taste of and that I know is bad for me, but I don’t. What I find perplexing is why this specific self-destructive method of coping isn’t more understood. Why people suffering isn’t understood.
I used to think I was different; I used to think I possessed a mind that was very perceptive, ultra-aware. I chose to believe this to justify others willingness to disregard others. If they didn’t understand, they didn’t understand. That was an easier way to digest how people seem to never really get why mental hardship is so prevalent. Saying “R U OK” seemed like enough in my mind if people just didn’t get it. I don’t believe this anymore. Instead, I’ve come to the realisation, after further self-analysis, that I’m not different. I’m an individual, sure, and as individuals we are all wired a bit differently. We all have those specific trademarks that make us all uniquely ourselves. But I don’t think I’m alone in my understanding of the mind. I don’t think the reason why I decide to partake in self-deprecating practices is hard to understand. It’s because some days I wake up not feeling good and it’s not without reason, it’s because despite living my life as someone who tries to apply altruism as much as possible throughout life due to crafting out a strong sense of personal philosophy, I have wronged others. I have hurt others in times of insecurity. That hurts more than anything. Knowing no matter what you do, no matter how much you shape your life to be receptive and accommodating for others, you hurt those who mean the most at points and no matter how many I forgive that have done wrong by me due to my own philosophy, I will still never truly deserve to be forgiven for saying things I didn’t mean, for acting out in ways that resulted in another’s pain. You yelled, you acted out of negativity, negativity you weren’t even understanding of. To put it simply, some days I wake up and I’m disappointed in myself. But it’s different now. I wake up on one of my rare off days met by disappointment fuelled on by a voice inside my head telling me that I’m not good enough. That I have no worth. This voice used to be mine, I’d hear it in my head and understand that this voice belonged to me. That was a mistake. I didn’t understand how me doing that, an internal gesture of ownership was identifying with my anxiety and therefore, bonding myself with mental illness. When you identify with mental illness, life becomes scary. You become petrified of everything and you will act accordingly to that nature. You will say things you don’t mean and you might not even really understand why you do, you will yell, you will call people names, you will even come to physical blows with your brother. And you don’t want to, but insecurity and anxiety will convince you that you are just trying to find preservation in order to do their bidding for their true objective. Destroying you and all the relationships you have. This voice of anxiety I hear every day is no longer mine. I don’t identify with it. I don’t hear it as my voice. Instead, it’s something worse. Somehow in a time of my life where I have realised true happiness and content, my anxiety is at its worst. That’s because that voice is now possessed by an accumulation of voices telling me it doesn’t matter how much I apply myself; the result will always be the same. I am not good enough. Or at least that’s what the voice of anxiety makes sure to remind me. One distinctive voice stands out from the bunch. One that stems from a time of my life that I just can’t let go of, despite more than anything wanting to. A time of my life where I undeniably truly felt complete and utter worthlessness. Like a spoon had been taken and used to gut me of everything. A time of my life where I sabotaged any form of potential peace. That voice confirms why I want to hurt. Because deep down, I don’t believe I deserve happiness. I love who I am now, they love people, they love being loud and adventurous and they love embracing life and being around friends. But when I’m alone I’m stuck with them. I’m stuck with myself, and it’s not like before, I find great strength in alone time. It allows me to regroup and build myself further in places in which being around my loved ones doesn’t. I can meditate, I can write, I can study, I can be creative. But I’m also left to mull over times where I have found no resolution. Times where I wasn’t forgiven. It’s not like there’s an abundance of these times. For the most part, I have realised forgiveness and it’s because I earned it. But the small amount of times where I haven’t found my peace with yet haunt me. I remember storming out of the room the day after I wrote a note alluding to taking my own life. I remember shedding tears at a rate that would rival the greatest sprinters records. I remember trying to talk to someone that stopped me from giving into depression, trying to see if they still thought I was worth it. I remember how exhausted she was. I remember how much energy I took from her. I remember her telling me she didn’t have it in her anymore. Something I refused to understand in that room. That’s where my anxiety stems from now. Although I made a further embarrassment of myself in the manner that my physical being stormed out of that room, mentally and emotionally I never got to leave the room, I’m stuck there. Forced to grow surrounded by a figurative environment in one’s mind that doesn’t encourage growth. The room that I learned the sincere, bottomness of my worthlessness, forever etched into my mind. I never get to leave. What debilitates me is knowing that I allowed that person to fall because of my own selfishness and inability to be mentally in control. That is what depression is, the emotion of selfishness. I allowed my own personal trauma to shape me as a person, permission of depression became me. I drained and upset the person that saved me and had no responsibility to do so. The person that reminded me that I was loved and that if I left this earth, I’d never realise it. I will never deserve forgiveness for putting that burden on that person. Relationships of any kind are never an obligation. Therefore, I eat sweets when I am sad or at the very least when somethings wrong. Therefore, I feel anxiety.
I have built myself both physically and mentally in preparation for anxiety, so it won’t affect me. I have done this by design of course. Being as active as I am physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually has meant anxiety doesn’t creep into my mind often. But when it does, it doesn’t want to face an improved version of myself. A version of myself that is strong and can cope with its bullying message. No, it tricks me into thinking I must turn myself back and destroy myself and that is the only way I will realise true comfort. Times have changed, I have evolved but the message remains the same “You are not good enough and you will never realise worth” is what I used to tell myself subconsciously every day when I was debilitatingly depressed. It’s also what I hear from anxiety today. The difference is, the morning I wake up from abusing my body with worrying levels of sugar and saturated fats, I’m met by the same smiling, happy face. I’m met by me. Because he’s not going anywhere. The person that I’ve always supposed to be and that I’ll continue to be remains and no matter how much anxiety will dictate that I am less, I will never lose all sense of self. Although I’ll always wish for forgiveness from those that I feel I have hurt in order to realise the allusive resolution that denies my rest, I know I’ll never deserve it. I don’t think anyone has the right to say they deserve forgiveness. That is self-awareness. Forgiveness is a privilege, never a given. But believing I don’t deserve happiness? That is the toll anxiety takes on people every day.
There seems to be this shared social sentiment that the stigma against mental health is perpetuated by people flat out denying mental illness is an existent factor in someone’s downfall, whatever that may be. Whether it be career, social life, relationships or whatever way one’s respective battle with mental illness hurts them, it’s irrelevant. What is relevant is the consensus. What the consensus seems to be is that the stigma is essentially birthed as a result of people being unreceptive and unaccommodating for others weakened mindsets. I won’t argue and debate against that. Those findings are true. The stigma against mental illness is that. It is isolating people due to their destructive tendencies and it is the social manipulation spurred on by prejudice that drains people suffering from enervative anxiety or depression of any strain of self-esteem they are in possession of. I am agreement with this. But what I am not in agreement with is that we aren’t all guilty of being a part of the stigma. We are. Branding someone toxic for acting accordingly to the influence mental illness has is part of the stigma. Making light of someone for expressing their bouts of anxiety in a way you haven’t been accustomed to is part of the stigma. Taking on a condescending attitude towards someone yelling and screaming because they’re scared of something inside their head is part of the stigma. Bullying and prejudice of any form are the root problems to any social movement that has legs to stand on. I’m comfortable enough to say I’m part of the stigma. I’m part of the stigma against my own battle. But I try every day to be more understanding. That shows the complexity of the stigma mental health faces. We all have the capacity to be better, to be more understanding and to be more accommodating. We don’t have to understand in completion, but we should all be conscious to the fact that mental illness corrupts people. I’m not suggesting that there is never measures to be taken, sometimes you can’t help someone suffering mentally. It exhausts others. But what I am suggesting is don’t make things worse. Don’t talk down about someone if you’re conscious that they aren’t themselves.
“We all have a long way to go before “R U OK” will be enough. I believe the only way to achieve true social resolution regarding mental health is by voicing up. Sharing in conversation is the key. ”
I draw upon the specific new battle anxiety has posed on my life not to hear messages of support; I am not in dire need of help. I am happy for the most part. I am at my best, and I further aspire to be even better. I am strong and resilient in the face of anxiety’s adversity. I am in a good place, and not only that, I am also obstinately independent now. I don’t need to be coddled. Once upon a time I was dependent on others due to losing the battle to mental illness. That person no longer exists. If you are reading this and you assume that I write this out of some desire for self-service, you are partly right. I want my battle with anxiety today to be understood. I want everyone to understand when I need my alone time, I want everyone to understand why if you push me too much, you might elicit a side of me that I have worked very hard to bury. I want everyone to understand why I wear sunglasses when I’m inside. I want everyone to understand that despite my happy, confident, and calm demeanour I have today, I can collapse into a puddle of tears at any moment. I want everyone to understand why I take on an almost pro wrestling influenced vain character around some crowds when I feel insecure. I want people to understand why if you pay close enough attention, I’ll shed a tear in the gym when ‘Always Remember Us This Way’ by Lady Gaga pops up on shuffle. But more than anything, I want people to understand each other. I loathe seeing division. There are stronger battles to fight against without wasting our energy wilfully and intentionally being ignorant and damaging to minds that are already losing the battle. I’m not entirely sure if we act in this manner because we aren’t aware that we are aiding in depression and anxiety’s destruction of others or if we do it due to being afraid that if we understand someone else’s hardship and trauma, we may find something to empathize and relate with. No, I draw upon my new experience with anxiety to put the light upon the strange and destructive way mental illness causes one individual to act. One of the most influential and important people in my life understands this. A man that showed me that you aren’t defined by your downfalls, you’re defined by the way you pick yourself up and push yourself to find worth. He understands this because he’s perceptive and accommodating and wants to make sure I’m okay. He knows when I am at my best, which is most of the time, that I don’t consume anything that would be deleterious to my athletic aspirations and my aesthetic. I remember during early February this year, I succumbed to consuming excess amounts of sugary food; it was a way to make myself feel bad. To punish myself. What people around me during that time may not have understood is that February every year is going to be a hard time for me. It’s the month in which I nearly admitted defeat to depression and anxiety. It was the month that I wanted to stop existing. It was the month I nearly let mental illness take full control and steal away my life. I’m not sure this person made that entire connection, but what they were observant of was that I was eating food I don’t like. That I wasn’t myself. So, they rang me while I was at work and asked if I was okay. I said no, but I was curious what made them conscious of the fact I wasn’t. They, in response, said something along the lines of knowing that I only partake in junk food consumption when something is wrong. That person had no responsibility to know that; they did not have any obligation to be accommodating towards my battle of anxiety. But they were, and they simultaneously made me happier and inspired as a result of that reminder that someone cared. That’s the type of energy I think we need to squash the stigma of mental health. Not the surface level caring of an “R U OK” post on social media that we’re tricked into thinking is enough so we can maintain this false sense of order that we understand mental illness. “R U OK” is a message for down the line. For now, we need to try to understand WHY people aren’t ok. That person understood that anxiety had a crippling influence on me in a manner it had not in a long time. They understood that I eat sweets when I’m sad or at the very least when something’s wrong.
My impulse to destroy myself on those off days is just a small taste of the hardship that many are forced to confront every day. I don’t make a point of sharing my experiences with life and mental illness in order to elicit sympathy. Truth be told, I’d rather not feel as if my energy is being wasted by being so open and transparent. Previously I felt as if our voices were worth something. I genuinely believed that we were doing enough to combat mental illness. I thought we had our mentalities collected enough so depression and anxiety didn’t potentially have control over whether or not we saw our friends, our brothers, our sisters, our mothers, our fathers, our family, and others tomorrow. I thought “R U OK” was enough, because if people shared the sentiment that mental illness is bad, then all of us sharing posts on Instagram and Facebook were doing enough. I was wrong. We aren’t doing enough. More needs to be done. This isn’t directed at the general public in a bid to shame or to put the blame upon their shoulders, although I do believe the necessary change to better understand mental illness is achieved through conversation. Conversation we can all take part in. Some aren’t comfortable enough to engage in conversation, some don’t believe they have the tools required to help end the stigma against mental health. To that, I say it’s fine. You don’t have to be open about any form of mental hardship you’ve faced. Just listen. Start listening. We need to have the real conversation about mental health that people aren’t ready for. It’s already too late, but there are still people out there we can save. People who are suffering from depression and anxiety are going to hurt you. They’re going to make the people around them sad at times. They’re going to turn away others. They’re going to say things they don’t mean and that have no justification because they are scared. Get comfortable with that if you want to be part of erasing the stigma. It’s time to put an end to this belief that mental illness is quiet. It’s not. The warning signs are obnoxiously in front of you. It is genuinely exhausting to hear people pretend as if they get it and then go on to contradict themselves. “R U OK” works in some cases but most of the time, it doesn’t. Because it’s not the massive catalyst for change that we need. Start admitting to yourself that mental illness is damaging, not just to the individual, but to those around them as well. Stop isolating people. Stop dividing. Stop labelling anything you have trouble understanding as “Toxic.” This is how we lose people. We belittle them and blast them as something they are not in order to feel comfort. Let’s start having the conversation we need. I had people make me feel lesser in my times of depression, people that would make me out to be someone I wasn’t. That was what made me confirm that depression and anxiety had won. I was starting to act according to the mask depression and anxiety covered my face in. I don’t blame these people either; that’s what we’re taught. That’s what mental illness wants people to believe. When someone is acting bad, then they must just be bad. I don’t excuse my behaviour at times either. I’m not suggesting we let people hurt others without consequence. Once again, there is no obligation for anything. Nobody has any responsibility to put up with anybody. But if we are to understand the effect mental illness has on others, then we need to start having a more in-depth conversation. If we are conscious of the concept that mental illness causes people to act destructive, not only to themselves, but to others, then the true prejudice that mental illness faces will be realised, and we will be ready to have this conversation further.
“The first step is admitting there’s a problem. “R U OK” isn’t that first step. Let’s start being honest with each other. Prejudice is the constant throughout any form of hardship. It’s time to start acknowledging the same for mental health. Be stronger than your excuses.”
- Josh
More about Josh:
My name is Joshua Thompson. I wrote a story for ‘Outrun The Stigma’ about a year ago and since then a lot has changed and I don’t really subscribe to who I was when I wrote my initial story. I thought I should write something that reflected myself and my sentiments more now that I’ve grown and became a stronger, more resilient person. I grew up in a family of 9 children, myself being the oldest. I’m currently studying a course to follow a career as a Life Coach so I can take my experiences with mental illness and use them to help others. I’m a huge sports fan, particularly AFL, NBA, EPL and especially MMA. I love philosophy and I’ve currently got a podcast with a couple of close friends that I hope to pursue further once things in a world of COVID become a bit clearer. My aspirations heavily lie in trying to pursue further purpose and always learning new ways to better myself, whether that be morally, socially, emotionally, mentally or physically. I love fitness and credit a lot of my growth due to a heavy workout regime and entirely plant-based diet. I have a goal of putting an emphasis on getting at least one amateur MMA fight.
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