Mental Health And #BellLetsTalk Day

How To Actually Help

13 years.

It was never diagnosed that way, told that way, or thought of that way, but it's pretty clear now that I've been battling a war - against depression, anxiety, and a mild amount of trauma - for coming on 13 years.

I found out I was gay at the age of 11, a culmination of a lot of weird, internalized hatred for not being able to explain in my head why I felt what I felt about men - and why I didn't feel what others felt about women - that came to its proverbial end as I cried myself to sleep on a Tuesday in May, 2008. I wouldn't tell a soul for five years, my parents wouldn't know for six, and there are still family members who don't know - for reasons that shouldn't require much of an explanation. It caused a wave of terror in me, one that wasn't aided by the hospitalization of my grandfather three months later - everything I had known in my life was falling apart, but I couldn't say anything.

Over the course of time, I would have good days and bad, mostly in high school when I would take time off school to go visit Parliament - to watch democracy in all its glory, but mostly just to not have to lie anymore. Every day from the moment I realized I was gay I was lying - pretending to be something I wasn't, pretending everything was okay, pretending I wasn't miserable. Freedom, for me, was a day where I was on my own - where I wasn't expected to be the version of myself that I played for teachers and classmates and my family. It was a sham.

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Today, in Canada, is #BellLetsTalk Day - a day where one of our leading Telecommunications companies pays a large amount of money based on how much social media reach the message gets, about how Mental Health is important to talk about. It should probably mean something to me - after all, a day to discuss mental health is a good thing, even if it is just a corporate goodwill effort that earns Bell more in free media than it costs in donations - but it doesn't. I think it used to, but now, I just find it to be callous. Everyone tweets the right words, we all celebrate how much money is raised, and then everyone continues to act the exact same the day after as they did before. It's a sop to everyone, making them feel good about how they're a good person. Maybe you are, maybe you aren't, but that day doesn't prove anything.

This shit is hard - maintaining your mental health is really, really hard, and there are no set rules for any of it. What we should do, what's normal - it's all crap, but because we are interconnected people, you can know that it doesn't matter and still have part of you feeling like you've failed. The worst part is that to properly describe the feelings bouncing around in your head is to sound fucking crazy - trust me, I know that feeling all too well.

If you want to actually make a meaningful difference to someone's mental health struggles, today isn't the day to ask how they're doing, or what you can do to help. It's tomorrow, or next week, or next month. If you know someone is going through shit - whether it be lockdowns biting them, family stress, or longstanding issues - reach out once this is passed. Let them know your concern isn't just there because of one day on the calendar. I've lived this darkness for 13 years, and there were times when the darkness felt overpowering. It was sometimes the smallest victories that sustained me days, even weeks into the future. I remember one fortunately timed snow day my sophomore year of high school allowed me to head downtown and attend Parliament without issue, but the craziest part was that it in a sense saved my life. I was in a really, truly dark place, and those 10 hours out of my house and free of the need to be the version of myself that others thought I was gave me enough of a jolt of happiness to sustain me for weeks afterwards, until it all got worse again.

If you want to actually make meaningful differences to the people you care about, then today isn't the way you'll make your difference. But it won't take much effort moving forward to let people know you care - and that might end up meaning more than you could ever know.