Silence is Deadly

Call me Frank. Some years ago, I tried to take my own life. Fortunately, my suicide attempt was not successful. That year was 2012.

Years of denial, shame, financial pressures, job loss, and impulsivity associated with my bipolar disorder had brought me to this low point.

Silence ruled the day. Kinda like the 1950’s when folks whispered “the ‘C’ word” instead of saying “cancer’ aloud as if somehow the power of the spoken word would spread the disease. Bipolar Disorder runs in my family. From a young age, I observed it and later began experiencing symptoms that I knew on some level were depression and mania but fought to hide them. I watched my grandmother who had what was then referred to as Manic-Depression, and my father who had it to a lesser extent. I spent my adolescence worrying that a similar fate was in store for me. 

Denial became my friend. I only recently heard the term “smiling depression”—that was me! I was living my life in the shadows for fear of the negative consequences that might await me if others knew my terrible secret. I was like that person in the drug commercial hiding their face behind a paper plate with a smiley face drawn on it. The happiness of others was more important than my own pain. 

The shame and stigma kept me suffering in silence.  Suicidal ideation was a regular part of my life from my 20’s through my 40’s.  My predilection for finding myself entangled in toxic relationships only served to destabilize my moods which often sent me into spiraling depressions or hypomanic episodes. This ongoing cycle of unpredictable moods, dysfunctional family & romantic relationships, along with the suicidal thoughts led to not one, not two, but three separate attempts to escape my emotional pain by suicide.

My therapists’ first request was terrifying to someone, like me, who had hidden his true feelings behind a mask of normalcy for so long—she wanted me to keep a journal. When she saw my profound reluctance to writing down my private thoughts, feelings, and actions, she told me it was OK for me to write “Hilary wants me to keep a journal and I don’t want to do it.” That was exactly what I wrote for my first journal entry. At first, it was just random sentences and images, but I am a creative person so sometimes I would include drawings or images I found online that resonated with me.

Over time I dug deeper and shared more freely—uncovering some frightening or unflattering things that I would never have disclosed before. I read and annotated articles I came across about Bipolar Disorder, mental wellness tips, and other relevant topics to educate myself about how to manage my disease or its manifestations. I later begrudgingly acknowledged to Hilary the value of journaling since it had yielded valuable insights and gave us a clearer idea of what concerns and symptoms we needed to address together as a team.

Throughout my career in government and nonprofit/human services, I often had to speak in public and write things like newsletters or grant application narratives. Several years ago, I had the good fortune to hear mental health advocate, Mike Veny, speak at a conference. In his talk, Mike shared his own story of struggle with mental illness and encouraged others to stand up and tell the world we were here, we had value and we would no longer be shamed into silence.  His talk really resonated with me. I was ready to don that cape and answer Mike’s challenge to be what he called a “Mental Health Superhero”. I told my therapist about my interest in utilizing my public speaking and writing skills to help others like myself. Hilary and my wife both encouraged me to pursue this new venture. 

I started by reaching out to colleagues at local nonprofit agencies who’d known me a long time and asked if they would host me as a speaker. That’s when I began to compose and refine a talk I called “from DENIAL to DISCUSSION” and an accompanying PowerPoint slideshow. Over time, I have spoken to diverse groups including human service agencies, business groups, schools, colleges, government agencies, and youth-service organizations.

A social worker friend of mine heard about my talks and invited me to be a guest on his podcast, then a local radio host invited me on his show. Over time, articles I authored began to appear in multiple publications; in print and online.

As an employment counselor, I am an avid user of Linkedin where I regularly post jobs, inspirational quotes/images, and articles I believe could be helpful to job seekers, employers, and other members of the Linkedin community. In late 2018, I decided to establish a Linkedin Group that would serve as a forum for clinicians and persons with lived experience like myself. The group started small, but over time it has grown to over 130 Members from all over the world! 

Currently, I have come to see myself as a member of the tribe of persons with mental illness. And frankly, I do not like how society is treating us.  

Recently, I’ve cried in my car after listening to yet another report of a death caused by those responding to a call for assistance by the loved ones of a person experiencing a mental health crisis. I recall it took no less than 26 phone calls before I could find a therapist who accepted my insurance and was taking on new clients. My experience and statistics bear out the fact that we have a shortage of clinicians and community services for those with mental illnesses. Lately, attention has been brought to the need for a more diverse pool of providers of mental health services in order to provide services to clients in a more culturally responsive manner. Lastly, language matters! We say things to people with a mental illness that we would never say to someone with a physical illness—can you imagine telling a cancer patient to “just snap out of it”?

My aim in sharing my story is to help bring forth a world where people like me are not afraid of the consequences of asking for help with a mental illness or crisis, are treated with dignity when they do so, and there are adequate community resources to meet their needs.

So, in a few short years, I’ve gone from being a mental health denier to a town crier of sorts—dedicated to raising awareness, debunking myths, reducing stigma, and generally improving the lives of people like myself.