Stories that Need to Be Told

by Katie Casey

I've always had a reputation for being almost intolerably cheerful. Once, freshman year, I was walking to class with a girl from my bus, chatting absently, and noticed her grinning at me. When I asked why, she laughed and said, "I love how happy you always are!" People say that so often that it's no wonder it comes as surprise that I was diagnosed with severe depression halfway through my sophomore year, and then with bipolar disorder by senior year. It feels horrifically cliche to suggest that all of this has taught me something about myself or the world, but I'd like to think it has - I've learned that struggles with mental illness are not only more common than I would have thought, but that they're stories that need to be told..

"I'm feeling crazy today," is my frequent disclaimer in conversation, when a "weird mood" makes it hard to keep up with everyone. My friends insist that I'm not crazy, and that I shouldn't use such a dismissive word, but often it's the only thing I can come up with to describe my experiences. It's difficult to try to explain to people, even friends, exactly how my "crazy" affects me. The challenge of putting words on strange thoughts and feelings isn't helped by all the stereotypes and stigma that surround mood disorders, much less mood disorders in teenagers. I'm already an art kid and the school's token lesbian; I would hate to add "emo kid" to the list of things people think of me. 

Unfortunately, I'm not in the habit of keeping quiet about things. Most of my friends know about my diagnosis, but I've also, as a creative writer and blogger, tried to increase awareness about and sympathy for mood disorders in my school. For example, I wrote a play on the topic of depression and self-injury at Governor's School, using quotes I'd found on a support forum I had joined a while before. It was an awkward project - one of my friends demanded to see my wrists when she heard my topic, and was only satisfied when I pushed away my bracelets to show them to be scar-free - but it generated fantastic discussion in class while passing on information on a topic generally not talked about.

Of course, the play came from the relatively safe world of a fiction writer, with all names changed; though I'm sure people suspected my direct connection to the topic, I was free to never mention it. This year, however, when we were asked to give speeches about ourselves in my GEMS class, I decided to talk about my own experiences. It was nightmarishly nerve-wracking. I drafted my entire speech out carefully, planning every word I would say instead of just writing note cards as our teacher had instructed, and nearly changed my topic the day before. When it was my turn to speak, following a speech by a theater kid about her first Shakespeare play, I stood shakily behind the podium and rushed through the story of my adventures in the mental health industry, getting tested and diagnosed and dealing with therapy. 

I was surprised to find that not only was my class extremely supportive, but they had their own stories to share - and, as editor-in-chief of our school's literary magazine, I was uniquely positioned to help them. Going through a classmate's nonfiction portfolio, I found a beautiful essay about her struggles with anxiety attacks. Another girl from GEMS gave me permission to publish her piece about dealing with her mother's mental illness. I'm thrilled that they trust me with their stories, and that I'm able to pass them on to a wider audience.

Though I've "come out" about my crazy to many of my classmates, I'm still hesitant to talk about it most of the time; I still don't want to be known as an "emo kid." However, I'm glad that I've learned how to talk about it without hiding behind fiction. I want people to hear what I have to say; and, more than that, I've learned that if I don't speak up I won't get to hear anyone else's experiences. Dealing with mental illness has taught me that stigma and stereotypes should never stop me from talking about something that I think is important, and I hope I can continue to use that experience to help other people speak up as well.