talking openly about mental health is honestly the hardest thing i do some days and i’m sitting here in my brooklyn shoebox apartment with the radiator going THUNK THUNK like it’s trying to start a band and my coffee’s gone cold again because i forgot it exists. wait i just typed “menatl helath” in my notes app for the 47th time this week, cool cool cool. anyway last tuesday i’m on zoom with my therapist—mid sentence about how my brain feels like a hamster on redbull—and my elbow yeets the entire iced latte across the keyboard. screen goes sepia, therapist freezes with one eyebrow arched, and i’m just whispering “no no no” while my cat blinks at me like “u good bro?” talking openly about mental health, ladies and gents: now in 4K.
why talking openly about mental health still makes me wanna hide under the covers
ok so target. saturday. 3pm. i’m in the chip aisle because hot cheetos are my emotional support snack and suddenly the lights are STROBING like a rave i didn’t sign up for and my chest is like “SURPRISE BITCH” and i’m crouched next to the goldfish pretending to care about sodium content while snotting into my mask. talking openly about mental health right then would’ve been like grabbing the mic at karaoke and screaming “MY BRAIN IS A HAUNTED HOUSE” but instead i bought three family-size bags and power-walked out like i robbed the place.
but the first time i actually DID talk openly about mental health?? drive-thru. del taco. therapist on speaker (wifi was being a drama queen) and miguel hands me a quesadilla while i’m mid-spiral about wanting to disappear into the east river. he just nods, slides in extra salsa verde, goes “you got this, hermana.” that 30-second exchange hit harder than any “how does that make you feel” in a beige office with bad art.
talking openly about mental health in the group chat (aka “the garbage humans”)
we got this chat—me, sarah, jay, my cousin who communicates exclusively in spongebob gifs. 2:17am thursday i send a voice note that’s 90% static 10% me going “i think i left my body again” and the replies:
- sarah: “mood i just ate frosting with a spatula”
- jay: “i told my boss my cat had a dentist appt”
- me: “…bold strategy cotton”
talking openly about mental health turned into us ranking our worst coping mechanisms (mine: buying succulents that die in 72 hours flat). but then jay says he’s been ghosting his zoloft. sarah drops her psych’s deets. we make a sunday check-in pact. messy? yes. lifesaving? also yes.
the time talking openly about mental health went FULL clown shoes
tried being “vulnerable” at a networking thing. told some tech bro my meds make me sweat like i’m hiding contraband soup. he did that nervous laugh, handed me a business card, and vanished faster than my motivation on mondays. lesson learned: not every room deserves your trauma dump, karen from accounting does NOT need to know about your 3am google spiral.
how i’m (kinda) getting better at talking openly about mental health
stuff that actually works, typed with cheeto dust on my spacebar:
- voice memos while pacing the high line—tourists in the background, wind eating half my words, zero facks given
- made a bingo card: “cried in target” “forgot to eat” “googled ‘is this a heart attack’ at 3am” — send pics to jay when i get a line
- the “code red” text: one friend gets “send dog memes or i perish” and that’s IT
also i started leaving sticky notes in coffee shops: “ur brain isn’t broken it’s just loading” — got a dm from someone who found one in a starbucks bathroom mid-panic attack. talking openly about mental health doesn’t always mean words, sometimes it’s a post-it and a prayer and a stranger’s “same.”
wait is talking openly about mental health making me WORSE tho?
real talk: sometimes oversharing feels like handing out maps to my soft spots. tweeted about intrusive thoughts once, woke up to 63 dms—half “same” half “have you tried celery juice.” now i got tiers: public insta for dog reels, close friends for the ugly cry voice notes. boundaries or bust baby.
stuff i actually use (no sponsorships i’m broke)
- nami warmline — called from a denver airport bathroom stall at 3am, actual human answered
- the mighty — for when i need “me too” at 300wpm
- my therapist’s emergency line (it’s in my phone as “DO NOT CALL UNLESS DYING…or close”)
ok wrapping this up before my adhd brain yeets to tiktok
apartment smells like burnt toast and yesterday’s panic, my succulent is hanging on by a thread, and i just paused writing to watch a raccoon steal tacos for the 47th time. but talking openly about mental health? it’s the difference between drowning in my own head and doggy-paddling with a pool noodle made of other people’s “i get it”s.
your move: text one human rn. doesn’t gotta be shakespeare—“brain glitch send help” works. screenshot it (blur names) and slide into my contact page dms—i’ll post the chaos next time. let’s keep this dumpster fire of a convo burning.
Outbound link: random acts of mental health kindness
