When I was eight years old, I told my school counselor that I was depressed. I don’t remember any precipitating event that catalyzed my search for help, just a prolonged sadness resistant to fleeting, happy moments. Thankfully, the school counselor recognized my feelings as a legitimate symptom of mental illness rather than an “odd quirk.” In retrospect, I am incredibly grateful to my parents, who gave me the vocabulary necessary to discuss my emotions at such an early age, and to the school counselor for taking me seriously. Without them, in every sense, I would not be here today.
After my initial meeting with the school counselor, I started the painful journey of managing my mental illness. It’s hard to remember the perspective of a depressed elementary school student, but there are some key things I do remember. My understanding of mental illness was grounded in my experiences of being physically sick; I believed something had caused me to become ill, and if we could figure out the cause, then I could be cured. I kept that perspective in the forefront of my mind during the first few years I went to therapy.
Reflecting on my childhood, I remember times of exceeding joy and profound sadness. Gradually, my brain filtered out the happy memories, emphasizing only the sad moments. For example, at age 10, what I remembered most from our trip to Disney World wasn’t the smell of freshly popped buttery popcorn, the friendly smile donned by the park employees, or the thrill of feeling the roller coaster shudder as we turned around the track. Instead, I remembered the disappointment of dropping the popcorn before I was finished, the feeling of inadequacy at being turned away from a ride I wasn’t yet tall enough to ride, and the pain of falling and scraping my knee as I rushed forward to get in line. My brain would not hold onto those happy memories; it would filter them out until all that was left was disappointment, insecurity, and pain. My brain was a bully to me, and it felt like there was nothing I could do to stop it. Learning the mindfulness skills necessary to counteract this reflex would take years.
I could understand how I felt — my brain was working against me to make me sad. But that still didn’t tell me why I was so sad. I spent a long time dissecting my early childhood with several therapists, searching for that elusive trauma that forced my brain into this thinking pattern. We searched, and we searched, and we searched for years, and years and years. Sometimes, I still wonder if there was some repressed instigating trauma that caused me this pain. Certainly, that was the thinking of my therapists. But there wasn’t. I grew up in an extremely loving and safe environment with parents who loved me unconditionally and whose life goal was to make my siblings and me happy, healthy, and successful. They have always supported me and have always helped me achieve my goals. I know they’re reading this now, and again, I want to thank them for being as perfect a pair of parents as possible.
As an adult, I am incredibly grateful for my childhood. But as a teenage boy, I was livid. With a seemingly endless supply of hormones rushing through my veins, I was so angry that I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. Why couldn’t I be happy like the rest of my peers? Why was I so sad? Why me? My teenage years were a tirade of rage and depression. I couldn’t figure out why I was depressed, which to me meant that I couldn’t be cured. At this point, I started taking note of the mental health of adults, and I realized that this might not be “just a phase.” Some adults were depressed for their whole lives. Some adults were so depressed they took their lives. I saw myself in them and thought, “I’m just one of the unlucky humans who will never be happy.”
When I was 21, I finally got an answer to my “why” question. After college, I started seeing a new psychiatrist who suggested I take a genetic test to determine whether there was a hereditary cause of my mental illness. And sure enough, it confirmed that I live with a gene that is associated with significantly lowered levels of serotonin. Knowing that fact gave me a profound sense of relief; I had finally found an answer after 13 painful years of searching.
Further, the test gave me practical next steps by organizing all the commonly used mental health medications by tiers of expected effectiveness. I quickly switched my medications to something in line with the test’s recommendations, and since then, I have experienced the best mental health of my life. I want to emphasize that the gene test was not a panacea; I still must go to therapy, I still need to practice mindfulness, and I still need to be constantly vigilant for symptoms of my mental illness. But the combination of effective medications, talk therapy, and excruciating introspection have facilitated my blossoming into the person I want to be. Happy, healthy, and helping others.
If I could talk with my eight-year-old self, I would tell him to hold onto hope and trust the process. Happiness isn’t an end goal to work toward — it’s a mindset that takes constant vigilance and hard work. Your brain isn’t an enemy to fight against; it is your best friend. And if you love yourself and treat yourself like you would treat your best friend, your brain will love you, too. I know how much pain you are in right now, and you don’t quite understand it yet, but you aren’t alone. Mental illness doesn’t have to be a prison — you can use it as a tool to empathize with others and make powerful, beautiful connections based on love and respect. Above all, know that I love you so much. You are strong, kind, and can handle everything life throws at you. Just take a deep breath and speak kindly to yourself.
I would not be the person I am without the mental health resources afforded to me. I was able to articulate how I was feeling when my symptoms started and had access to therapy, medication, and genetic testing. That is why I work at NAMI. Since its inception in the 1970s, NAMI has been a leading voice in advocating for mental health awareness and has provided communities with free mental health resources for decades. Our mission is not an easy one—considering 1 in 5 U.S. adults experience mental illness each year, but less than half of those receive treatment, we have our work cut out for us. But the world we envision is worth the effort of achieving.
If you or someone you know is experiencing a mental health crisis, please call 988 to be connected with a crisis response team. If you or someone you know is looking for mental health resources, please consider contacting our HelpLine by phone at 1 (800) 950-NAMI (6264) or by email at helpline@nami.org. Our HelpLine staff have an extended directory of mental health resources they can connect you with. We at NAMI envision a world where everyone can access the mental health resources needed to live their best lives.
Together, we’re working to make this vision a reality.
Drew Keavany
NAMI, National Alliance on Mental Illness