You know, that phrase never made any sense to me. As a pejorative, it works only under the assumption that “mental” is a negative. Which it isn’t. It’s positive or negative or neutral, depending upon the context, as in “mental agility” “mental illness” and “mental state”. So why would you make a word having to do with your brain function a pejorative? Is it specifically a slam against mental illness, or is it more vague and instead referring to those who use their brains?

Of course I can see both as possibly valid, considering how American society seems to value intelligence.

But that wasn’t my point when I sat down to write.
I’ve been thinking for several days about mental health and mental illness, and why it’s so difficult to admit to mental illness.

I recently talked to two professors, to let them know why I was not going to be taking classes again this fall, and I wasn’t sure when I’d be taking classes again, because I’m incapable of continuing until my mental health is more stable.

It was very difficult to have those two conversations, despite the fact that I was talking to my public health professors. Even though I was sure these professors would understand the implications of what I was saying, it was still very hard to say it.

One of the things that depression does is leave you with a huge sense of vulnerability. You assume that everything is your fault–if someone is in a bad mood, I have to figure out what I did wrong. If someone says something to me that I take the wrong way, I can sit and obsess over what I did to deserve that comment, even if the remark meant nothing to the person who said it.

So admitting to depression and mental illness is opening yourself up at a time when you’re already vulnerable. You already feel inadequate, and then you’re expected to admit that inadequacy to other people. Even if this society were accepting of mental illness, this would be a hard thing to do. It’s even harder knowing that some people will see your confession as a confession of weakness.

In essence, you are creating a self-fulfilling prophecy. You feel incapable to properly dealing with a situation, and in confessing your weakness, others then assume your lack of capability. I know that eventually I’ll be over my depression and move on with my life, but I wonder whether in confessing this weakness, I have reduced myself in the eyes of those with whom I have shared this. I will no longer be “Michelle the geek” or “Michelle the software support person” or “Michelle with the quirky sense of humor” or “Michelle who bakes awesome chocolate desserts” but will instead be classified forever in the minds of others as “Michelle, who suffers from depression, so maybe you should be careful around her.”

Perhaps they would have good reason to feel that way. Maybe depression is like breaking a vase. You can patch it back together, but it’s never quite as strong or as good as it was before it broke.

But if I’m lucky, it’s like a patchwork quilt. When the quilt wears thin in one place, you just patch it up with a new square of material, making it stronger and giving it even more character.