ablogpostaboutmentalhealth
For a lot of us, Friends was a big deal. A comfort watch. Something to keep you going when you felt lonely. That dream of having a close-knit group of friends who felt like family.
I read Matthew Perry’s book Friends, Lovers and the Big Terrible Thing at the start of the year, and it was such a difficult book to get through. Right from the start it rips the plaster off any rose-tinted memories of Chandler Bing. It’s a grim read which strips the sheen off the glossy show - it’s raw, infuriating, sad and at many times painful. Perry didn’t sugar-coat his story (how could he?), nor his personality, which (believe it or not) wasn’t always as charming and hilarious as the guy he played on television - but if one thing was clear it was that Perry wanted to help other people who were addicts.
It’s easy to presume in these circumstances what might have happened in those final hours, but none of that is helpful nor any of our business. But one thing that struck me over the past day was how we express ourselves when it comes to a mental health-related tragedy. In particular, that Robin Williams meme with the quote “It’s always the funniest people who are the saddest”. I’ve no idea if Williams even said that, but those sentiments only perpetuate a near-romanticised, fatalistic perspective of mental health.
If you think mental health issues will never affect you because it can’t - you’re tough, strong, got it all worked out (or if we’re to judge by that RW meme: maybe you’re too “unfunny” to suffer) - well… good luck with that.
Talking about how you’re feeling can feel too difficult, embarrassing or it can make you feel exposed. Perhaps you’re feeling guilt, hopelessness and/or shame. You worry that attitudes will change towards you. That you’ll be labelled. Seen as weak. That all you need to do is focus on the positives rather than the negatives. That, heaven forbid, you haven’t got it as bad as others.
Perhaps people have told you that you’ve got it easy or “You think YOU’VE got it bad…”
All the mental health awareness days, social media icons and well-meaning exercises in box-ticking won’t deal with the uncomfortable truth that sometimes people just don’t want to know.
They haven’t got the energy or capacity in themselves to help with someone else’s problems. Caring for someone with mental health problems can affect your mental health.
Mental health-related problems don’t discriminate. They’re happy to screw with anyone, regardless of age, status or sex. We all know this, don’t we? So what do we do about it?
Should we post on social media, adding to the noise of sentimental memes featuring celebrities being escorted off to heaven with whichever character they were most associated with? Share our stories and photos of them? Do we write self-help blog posts (yes, I’m including myself in this)? Shake our heads and tutt “You never know what’s going on with someone…”
I’m not an expert on how to help people - I sometimes feel I can barely help myself - I could suggest a cheesy paraphrasing of that earworm theme tune from Friends: Be there for them when the rain starts to fall. Often there are no answers to be had - we want to help, so we diagnose feelings or offer sympathy via relating.
I don’t wish to over-simplify anything, but all I know is taking time to ask how someone is doing and listening can make a difference.
If you are struggling: Don’t keep it hidden.
If you don’t have anyone to talk to, and if you feel that you can’t phone a helpline, start by writing about how you feel. Your experiences.
Talk to your doctor. In the UK, the NHS offers a service called Silver Cloud, which focuses on CBT (cognitive behavioural therapy). It teaches coping skills for dealing with different problems.
Contact charity organisations like Kintsugi Hope, who run wellbeing support groups.
I don’t know how to close this other than to say let’s keep talking to each other, and not just about the good stuff.
