It’s another one of those let’s have a conversation about mental health days today. This one is called ‘Time To Talk Day‘ and according to the excellent mental health charity MIND it’s “the nation’s biggest mental health conversation.” MIND adds: “Happening every year, it’s a day for friends, families, communities, and workplaces to come together to talk, listen and change lives.” Although I know a thing or two about mental health (“you’ve never mentioned that before” says absolutely no one at all), I must admit until this year it’s rather passed me by. But levity aside, there lies within it a simple truth. We need to talk about mental health.
This is much easier for someone like me whose future is mostly behind them. I can speak out freely and openly about my depression and all the rest of it without wondering how it might affect my job (I was going to add the word ‘prospects’, but in truth there never were any. Just making it through every day was the limit of my ambition). I keep reading how everything has changed, how it’s no longer such a big thing to talk about your mental health, that people have different and better attitudes. I’d say that’s partly true.
In the last 15 years of my full time working life, I became more open. Not so open as to frighten the horses, so to speak, but to somehow explain why I was not always fully functional. Helpfully, the lifetime of depression had taught me considerable acting skills and an ability to underplay everything. And anyway, I usually hate talking about myself: I’d rather listen. Not so smart when your mental health is in bits.
I know plenty of people tell me they have endured mental health issues over the years and they, too, are good actors because, frankly, I might not otherwise had known had they not told me. Then they talk about it, as much as they want to, which isn’t usually much, and I know I’m not alone. But actually, us mental folk usually talk as little as we can about our demons. I know I write about it ad nauseum, but I rarely talk about it. I don’t lie, though.
“How are you?” is a question that comes quickly at you. For much of the time, it actually means hello or some other such friendly greeting. After all, no one really expects or wants to you to explain in great detail about your medical issues. (“Oh, not too bad thanks. My piles are definitely shrinking. Have a look …”) But in an effort to be honest, or at least not dishonest, I try to answer the question. If I’m not too bad, I’ll say not too bad. If I feel very low, I might trot out the “still breathing” reply, which can elicit a smile on a good day. If someone asks, “What does that mean?” then it gets more complicated.
I, for one, am very grateful that organisations like MIND exist in the first place because without them, what’s left? A massively diminished NHS provision and the parasitic run-for-profit vultures of the private sector. So, it’s all left to charities to literally save lives. That’s such a familiar story in Broken Britain, isn’t it?
It’s good to talk, at least sometimes, but always remember who you’re talking to. Not everyone has your best interests at heart and not everyone believes mental health is actually a thing. Even in these so-called enlightened times, mental health is seeing as a negative, something to be counted against the sufferer. It’s a shame I feel the need to add such a significant qualification, but that’s the world I know.
Don’t let any of my negative whingeing put you off. Talking is still better than not talking and living is generally better than not living and if the latter becomes an issue, then please talk to someone here, now, today.
It’s just a shame that these special mental health days aren’t a reflection of every day. It’s like the Christmas food bank collections which, excellent though they are, don’t help starving people in the other 51 weeks of the year. Every day should be mental health day, good mental health day.
