[Don't] Call Me Crazy: 33 Voices Start the Conversation about Mental Health

by Kelly Jensen

Depression is a thing I carry with me. It is a shadow that lurks inside me. Depression is the smoke that ebbs and flows within my body. Depression is the result of chemical changes within my brain. Depression is the parasite. It is the foreign invader. An unwelcome guest. Depression is the voice that whispers in the back of my head. It is the rain that falls and the thunder that shakes the windows and the lightning that strikes the earth. It is the ghost that haunts me.

Sometimes I wonder if having a mental illness is supposed to be visible. Am I supposed to bear the scars—both physical and metaphorical—of my disorder like a flag, like a warning? Do I wear a sign about my neck that reads: Here Be a Real-Life Crazy Person—Tread Carefully?

“How did you do it?” they ask. “How did you get better?” I didn’t. I survive with it. I live with it. I thrive with it, thanks to a combination of medication, therapy, and a wonderful support network.

Those of us who don’t give our all for a cure—or more accurately, for control of our crazy—are seen as moral failures. Too lazy to do the right thing.

Hurtful words usually belong to those who haven’t yet healed from the pain inflicted by their own demons.

A thought kicks off inside my head, and goes around and around until it has its own mass and gravity, a force strong enough that I can’t seem to pull free. I started to think of this dangerous mental landscape as quicksand, but in truth, it’s the opposite—because you have to pull yourself free.

May I be well. May I be safe. May I be happy. May I be healthy. May I live with ease. The last step is to open up all this loving kindness to the wider world: May all beings be well. May all beings be safe. May all beings be happy. May all beings be healthy. May all beings live with ease.