By Elisabeth Strillacci

I usually try to keep my thoughts in these columns upbeat, or at least with a positive goal.

But this week, it’s time we talk about something more intense, something that most of us would rather keep hidden.

It’s called depression, or more widely, mental illness. It makes me sad, the words we use to talk about something that has such a massive impact, because it’s meant we hide it for fear of being ostracized, embarrassed, shamed for being “crazy” or “nuts.”

We can’t do that anymore. We’ve got to reach a point where we understand that mental illness is just like any other chronic disease, including diabetes, heart disease, high blood pressure, etc. It is equivalent to any other illness that is readily managed with medication and therapy.

How many of us see chiropractors or massage therapists or physical therapists for chronic pain and inflammation? Well, when there is inflammation in the mind or the heart, a therapist provides the same help that the PT or chiropractor provides for your back pain or arthritis.

But because of the stigma of mental illness, people resist taking medication or seeking out a therapist because they don’t want anyone to know. Something that is treatable becomes instead a tremendous stumbling block to peace and to success because we don’t want to feel like something is terribly, horribly, fearfully wrong with us.

And we just have to stop this.

About a year ago, I had a bad case of COVID, and while depression and anxiety have been with me for a lifetime, my meds were suddenly not effective. My oncologist was the one who said studies were beginning to find a link between COVID and depression. Thankfully, we made some adjustments in my meds after that, with my psychiatrist, and I was able to get back to normal.

Right now, I’m facing some heavy depression once again, but I know this time it is circumstantial. A few big big changes in my life have left me feeling adrift, lost at sea, and I can’t seem to see my usual North star to find my way home.

But I also am being honest with my therapist and myself about where I am and am making it clear I need help right now. I need a hand to hold, as it were.

What I don’t need are the responses I typically get if I risk telling folks I’m not feeling up to snuff, and I want you all to hear me, because I am not alone in this.

If someone tells you they are struggling emotionally, please, do not give them the “chin up” speech, or tell them to count their blessings.

Why?

Because I can guarantee you they are already very well aware of all the good things in their life, all their blessings. But depression, anxiety and mental challenges go far beyond the surface idea of simple gratitude. It does help, mildly, but when you say all we have to do is see the sunshine, it drives us farther inside ourselves and our sadness, because we know it is there, but it is not helping. And we feel even more a failure, because what works for others does not work for us. How much more broken must we really be that we can know all that we have to be grateful for and still we are not well?

I need us to stop being afraid of those of us who have a mental illness. I need us to stop treating it as if it’s something negative, evil or demonic and recognize it is just another chemical imbalance, just like myriad other diseases.

And I need us to know that sometimes words are not the cure. Sometimes just sitting in silence with someone is what they really need, just to know someone is right there. No need to talk; not being alone is enough.

I was diagnosed nearly 30 years ago with Bipolar Type II rapid cycling. All these years later, I have been through menopause and now I am left with primarily depression. Much of the mania has subsided, even without medication. So my needs have changed, and we have adjusted accordingly.

What I am dealing with right now is often referred to as situational depression, meaning it’s brought on by surrounding circumstances and not by my illness, but my illness exacerbates what I’m feeling.

Think of it this way: if you take blood thinners, you have trouble with blood clotting if you injure yourself. If you cut yourself cooking, it’s going to hurt because cuts on the hands are painful anyway, but with your additional compromise, you have a bigger problem because now you’re working to stop the bleeding as well. That’s kind of what I’m up against. I am working through some emotions because of the changes in my life, but it is made more challenging because I already deal with sadness.

Mental illness is not scary or threatening. I’m no danger to anyone except me and most of the time, not even that.

I know it can be hard to understand if you haven’t experienced it, but I’m hoping that in reading this, perhaps at least some of you will try to see mental health a bit differently. See it as just another health challenge that many of us face, albeit silently.

I’ll be interested to see how people react next time they see me if they’ve read this. I know there will be many who will be supportive, but I also know, sadly, this will cost me a few friends. It shouldn’t be that way, because I’m still the same person I’ve always been, that you’ve always known.

What I’d ask most is — just be there. It’s pretty simple, really. Just be there.

Elisabeth Strillacci is formed editor of the Salisbury Post. Contact her at lizstrillacci@gmail.com.