We have more therapists now than we’ve ever had. We produce SSRI’S by the trainload. Every issuance of the DSM (currently we’re on #5) gets larger with more diagnoses. But are we happier? I’ll take this one; hell no.
We’re a mess. A big part of why is that we no longer face our problems. We tranquilize them (we have used things like Laudinum and whiskey in the past) and our insurance pays for 5-12 sessions with the therapist to solve everything else. We no longer face life’s problems or our own insecurities because we have a doctor’s note. It’s become a hall pass for crummy behaviour.
I’m not saying the problems aren’t real, they very much are. But we are willing to pop a pill and say “I’m all fixed” rather than suffer the annoying discomfort of looking at ourselves.
Yes, mental health is physical health. We have more mental health treatment than ever before and our outlook is not improving. Between social media and text we fill some of the void to get us by. But at what cost? We still eventually collapse and hope the system catches us. Newsflash: it is not a good catcher.
Nothing can fill the void (in a healthy way) in more that a fleeting way than we can for ourselves. Take the antidepressant. But get the accompanying therapy. Do the homework. And figure out the best life you can live in the moment. Your mental health depends on it.
One parting thought, respite from behavioural health challenges is a journey, not a destination. You will likely never be “well” but you will be okay. Sometimes that’s the best we can do.
Keep fucking going.
Beta Testing Adulthood 