Image credit: Baxter Brew
Thankfully, mental health has largely escaped the antiquated corner into which our parents’ generation pushed it. Expert consensus affirms that mental illness exists, and public opinion reflects this finding. Some people really are ill. This article is not for those people.
This article is for two types of people, both of whom can be found across the Claremont Colleges. The first person may be pathological but can do something about it. The second is pathologized but not pathological.
Person one likely romanticizes the problem. I certainly used to do this. I fell into the bottomless regress of bragging about my bad habits and poor mental health. This was like dragging my hand across a 2x4 and flaunting my splinters.
Of course, I couldn’t make it seem like bragging. I used to casually mention my most recent all-nighter or my new medication. What a weird perversion of stoicism this was, subtly boasting about my poor time management. An official diagnosis was sweet justification for my struggles. Medicine was my medal of honor.
If you think you might fit the above description, it’s only human. Sympathy feels good. And it's hard to resist the praise you receive from working yourself into a pit, especially in an environment that so deeply values competition and extrinsic motivators.
But this approach ultimately condemns us to further suffering. Instead of merely soothing the pain of our splinters with sympathy, we just need to take them out.
The classic Boomer refrain likely still stings your ears: It's that goddamned phone. I used to tune that out as the reductive thinking that obscured mental illness in the first place. But we should give our parents a little credit. If you’ve never considered that your mental illness might be caused by something you’re doing, here’s a chance to. Do you really expect to feel fantastic when the last time you exercised was a month ago? When all you ate for breakfast was a poptart? Do you expect to sustain your focus in class after years of barraging your brain with six-second TikTok dopamine hits? The crap we’re shoving into our heads isn’t exactly brain food (here’s an example for anyone wondering).
Of course, in cases like addiction and eating disorders, the habits themselves are the problem. But when they’re not–when those fifteen white claws were just because you wanted to–we shouldn’t rely on access to prescriptions to disregard our responsibility to live well. Medicine should not replace accountability.
This brings me to person two: the pathologized but not pathological. This person might have an official label. Their doctor might have told them they’re sick. Maybe they’ve been prescribed medicine. Or maybe they’ve just seen a checklist somewhere and decided that they, too, have a mental illness. But ultimately, person two is not ill.
I’ve also been this person before. My bouts of sadness, social anxieties, and grief were so real—I must’ve had a sickness. A discrete set of symptoms that I could sequester from my real personality. But not all pains need fixing. Sometimes, pain is normal and good. Sometimes, you get nervous before a presentation. Sometimes, your hormones fluctuate. Sometimes, you get sad. None of this is pathological.
In fact, exploring your hurts often heals you better and teaches you more about yourself than any alternative. Introspection, mindfulness, and therapy are some of the most effective ways to explore your emotional landscape, helping you grow more resilient along the way.
It’s okay not to always be ecstatic (perpetual smilers are kind of freaky anyway). You don’t need a doctor’s note to justify your shitty week or idiosyncrasies. And we should reject the parts of our culture that make us feel otherwise.
If we aren’t careful, the borders of mental illness’ growing radius might soon fade into nonexistence. And, while a scientifically discernable line between clinical pathology and mere distress may not exist, our use of diagnostic language has undeniably overstepped its bounds. The pressure to expand care is coming from all sides. Pharmaceutical companies want to sell drugs, doctors want to help their patients, schools want to support their students, and people want to feel better. But we shouldn’t allow the expansion of mental healthcare and destigmatization of mental illness to obscure reality.
I often overhear–and have certainly been guilty of this, too–students casually uttering, “My ADHD is so bad,” “I’m so OCD,” or “I’ve been super depressed.” For those who don’t really mean it, using these terms cheapens their significance for the people who genuinely need support. It exploits a society that is finally making strides toward an empathetic view of mental illness.
Plus, it may be counterproductive. One study found that broadening the definition of mental illness harms those newly included: although this expansion might increase empathy and support for individuals, it also reduces the chances of their recovery.
The truth is that mental healthcare is fraught with controversies about what many believe to be settled matters. We still lack a clear definition of our object of study. We still don't know if depression is merely a deficiency in serotonin. In fact, the direction of causality between neurochemical imbalance and mental illness is still unclear. Antidepressants are often found to be ineffective at treating mild depression, but many other studies disagree. The point is, it's up for debate.
In the West, biological psychiatry has desperately tried to legitimize its control over the meaning and treatment of mental illness. But we should take medical authority with a grain of salt, especially the authority that can somehow prescribe life-changing medication after a ten-minute conversation.
If we want everyone who needs help to get it, we have to hold on to some meaningful understanding of mental illness.
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