While I was driving to school last week, my car skidded off the road into a ditch. I arrived at Ohio University hours later, floating around in a post-crash haze. I went to a coffee shop to pull myself together - gigantic cookies usually have that effect - and stared out the window for almost an hour.
I'm pretty sure I was not mentally well in that moment.
Although I was consumed by my thoughts, my hunch is that few people noticed or thought much of it. There's a fine line between OK and not OK, and it's easy to attribute the latter to weirdness, quirkiness or a bad day. Think about how much we can (and do) hide from one another, mental illness included.
Now, more than in the past, students face mental illness while in college. Advances in treatment of mental illness allow more people to attend college than in the past. Increasing stress, emotional fragility (we've been called the Therapy Generation) and external demands have us seeking care in record numbers. But mental illness is still served with a side of stigma, even if less so now than years ago.
Many college students experience symptoms of mental illness during the upheaval of moving away from home. Traces of dysfunction magnify as students lose social support structures and suffer unforeseen challenges. Sadness can become depression, and stress may grow into anxiety.
But when is the last time someone said to you, Yeah
I talked about that in therapy yesterday or I can't afford my antidepressants this month? I don't hear those phrases at OU very often.
Mental illness remains an undercover condition. Many of us want to see acceptance of mental illness and those who cope with it. Sometimes in the process, we make the mistake of completely excluding ourselves from this group. We all have our moments of mental dysfunction, if not illness; we may be more similar than we think.
The American College Health Association conducted a 2008 survey of 28,144 students at 40 colleges and universities that found about 50 percent of those surveyed had experienced above-average or tremendous stress. In addition, 49.1 percent felt overwhelming anxiety and 30.6 percent had difficulty functioning due to depression. The mean response rate was 27 percent among a randomly selected sample of students.
And yet, only 19.1 percent of students reported a mental health diagnosis in the previous year.
Most people with mental illnesses aren't so affected that you could identify them in a crowd. Instead, they might be friends who suddenly stop coming to parties, partners who sleep longer and longer or colleagues who seem to have lost interest in activities that were once fun.
Instead of conducting broad or abstract conversations about the need to destigmatize mental illness, we can help our peers by simply showing empathy to those who slowly withdraw or begin behaving in less palatable ways. In short, we need to spend time with people who seem like they don't want to spend time with us.
There is undeniably a chemical basis to some mental illnesses. And we can't hope to replace the work of mental health professionals whose expertise exceeds what niceness can accomplish. But mental illness can be situational as well. We can help someone feel better rather than avoid a melancholy friend.
Your willingness to put up with a friend's erratic behavior, crying spells or sudden disinterest in life could be factors in helping that person make it through the day. It could be a factor in allowing a friend to remain in school.
There's no reason to cancel the National Alliance on Mental Illness walks and fund-raiser. They serve a larger purpose. But as individuals, our greatest influence may be as friends and colleagues who identify with struggling peers. We all deal with periods of loneliness, sadness and worry.
Destigmatization is more than lip service to the less fortunate. It's a call to action - and maybe one that's simpler than we think.
Robin Donovan is a graduate student studying journalism and columnist for The Post. Send an e-mail to rd253609@ohiou.edu
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Opinion
Robin Donovan
