“This is like an AA meeting for book depressives, anxiety cases, ADHD, I consider myself the triple threat,” Margaret Stohl (Beautiful Creatures, Icons) joked at the first panel I attended at the first ever YallWest book festival. “In honor of my ADHD AA meeting–My name is Margaret Stohl. I am a bestselling author in 50 countries. I’ve had a book made into a movie. I’ve sold a lot of books, I’ve visited a million countries and I’m so depressed sometimes I cannot get out of bed in the morning. I am a New York Times bestselling trainwreck.”
With those words my heart dropped. I wasn’t expecting this. Sure, the description for the panel said, “Honest talk about painful struggles
with depression, anxiety, ADHD, life. Margaret Stohl, Libba Bray,
Rachel Cohn, Kami Garcia, Richelle Mead,
Lauren Oliver, Stephanie Perkins,” but I thought it was a joke. You know one of those, I get really crazy during deadlines, type things. Not, actual mental illness.
I moved to LA to write, to separate myself from the things that bring me down and to get away from my bipolar disorder and the bottle of lithium that sits unopened in my suitcase. I most certainly didn’t come to LA to sit and listen to my favorite authors discuss their own mental problems. But, I did. And, honestly, I think it is one of the best things that could have happened to me in this point of my journey.
Like many of you who read COBG, I want to write more than anything and sometimes, it’s hard. Sometimes, my mind goes to dark places and I stare at the screen while I berate myself. I tell myself that I am horrible, that no one cares what this black girl from the Bronx has to say. Sometimes, I can’t get out of bed, never mind write. Sometimes, I’m so overcome with so many thoughts and ideas, it’s difficult to pinpoint just one thing to focus on. What I learned on Saturday is that Richelle Mead can relate, Lauren Oliver is a survivor and that Stephanie Perkins almost didn’t write one of my favorite books of 2014, because the same demons that plague me, plague her.
I thought long and hard on how I would report on YallWest 2015. Long as in this post is days behind schedule and hard, because it truly is difficult to pinpoint what to write about a weekend long experience that I equate with booklr heaven. Should I write about the lines of people of all ages and genders waiting for a few moments with their favorite authors? Should I discuss tripping over suitcases and carts filled with books, because some book geeks wanted every single book they own to be signed? Would my followers be interested in reading about the friends I made or the fact that I hung out in the greenroom and ate lunch with Susan Ee (Angelfall) or that I stood next to Veronica Roth (Divergent series) for like five minutes without realizing it was her? Sure, I could brag and chat about all the things I did that you didn’t or I could share an experience that helped me. Share it is.
“I, for a long time, have been passionate about people dealing with mental illness and struggling with depression, or addiction, or having suicidal thoughts and, strangely enough, it’s almost like the life I live, as well. These characters that we play on “Supernatural,” Sam and Dean, are always dealing with something greater than themselves and I’ve sort of learned from the two of them that they get through it with each other, and with help and with support. And I, in the past, have had my own struggles of not [being] so happy with where I am in life, which is strange and I think it goes to show… Maybe a lot of people don’t know this, but Season 3, we were shooting an episode and I went back to my trailer to get changed and just kind of broke down.
A doctor came to set and talked to me for about 30 minutes, or 45 minutes and said, “Jared, I think you’re clinically depressed. I think I should write you a note and we can shut down production for five days and then we can take it from there.” And it kind of hit me like a sack of bricks. I mean, I was 25 years old. I had my own TV show. I had dogs that I loved and tons of friends and I was getting adoration from fans and I was happy with my work, but I couldn’t figure out what it was; it doesn’t always make sense, is my point. It’s not just people who can’t find a job, or can’t fit in in society that struggle with depression sometimes.
Luckily, two of my great friends, Jensen who everybody knows very well, and my friend Kelly who I work with, came to my trailer to check in on me and talked to me for probably an hour or so and then, I was like, “all right guys, I’m going through a tough time right now. I don’t know what it is, but I’m just going to keep my legs moving. I’m going to keep fighting.” They let me go that day. They were like, “Hey buddy, go home. Call your family, and you’re off work. Come back to work tomorrow.”
So I went home and the next day I showed up for work and just kind of gradually got better, but it’s something that I’ve been passionate about for a while.”
Feeling the need to apologize for being mentally ill is a miserable, miserable thing.
I’m sorry I can’t focus well, I’m sorry I get all scrambled when I talk, I’m sorry I get sad easily or for no reason, I’m sorry I can’t keep my room clean. I’m sorry if I embarrass you by crying in public, or if I annoy you when I talk about things that I’ve told you about twenty times already.
I’d act normal if I knew how, but that’s just not the way my brain works.
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I think one of the worst parts of mental illness is when you can recognize you’re being irrational and your thoughts and feelings have no logical source….but you still can’t help it.
And then people cap it off by telling you you you’ve got no reason to feel a way.
Like “Yeah thanks I had no idea…”
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Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. I only just heard the sad, sad news of Robin Williams’s death. My wife sent me a message to tell me he had died, and, when I asked her what he died from, she told me something that nobody in the news seems to be talking about.
When people die from cancer, their cause of death can be various horrible things – seizure, stroke, pneumonia – and when someone dies after battling cancer, and people ask “How did they die?”, you never hear anyone say “pulmonary embolism”, the answer is always “cancer”. A Pulmonary Embolism can be the final cause of death with some cancers, but when a friend of mine died from cancer, he died from cancer. That was it. And when I asked my wife what Robin Williams died from, she, very wisely, replied “Depression”.
The word “suicide” gives many people the impression that “it was his own decision,” or “he chose to die, whereas most people with cancer fight to live.” And, because Depression is still such a misunderstood condition, you can hardly blame people for not really understanding. Just a quick search on Twitter will show how many people have little sympathy for those who commit suicide…
But, just as a Pulmonary Embolism is a fatal symptom of cancer, suicide is a fatal symptom of Depression. Depression is an illness, not a choice of lifestyle. You can’t just “cheer up” with depression, just as you can’t choose not to have cancer. When someone commits suicide as a result of Depression, they die from Depression – an illness that kills millions each year. It is hard to know exactly how many people actually die from Depression each year because the figures and statistics only seem to show how many people die from “suicide” each year (and you don’t necessarily have to suffer Depression to commit suicide, it’s usually just implied). But considering that one person commits suicide every 14 minutes in the US alone, we clearly need to do more to battle this illness, and the stigmas that continue to surround it. Perhaps Depression might lose some its “it was his own fault” stigma, if we start focussing on the illness, rather than the symptom. Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. He died from Depression*. It wasn’t his choice to suffer that.
A few things about mental health and depression and my own life
I’m sad about Robin Williams. Doubly sad that it’s an apparent suicide. I’ve struggled with depression pretty much all my life, but i’m grateful I haven’t ever really been suicidal since I was a teen (and even then I never really wanted to die per se, if that makes sense). I’m glad I finally gave medication a try and that it seems to be working. I’m glad that I have a spouse that loves me and is willing to see me through. And that I have friends who are equally patient.
If you’re struggling, just know you aren’t alone. My ask is always open. There are resources out there. Depression doesn’t look the same on everyone, but it does whisper untruths in your ear.
This post by Wil Wheaton is one of the things I turn to when I need to remember I’m not alone, that many people, famous and not, struggle with the same thing.
