“Recurrent Major Depressive Disorder, in Full Remission.”
by Cliff Batson, CEO
(In other words: “Cliff’s doing great, but keep him away from country music and gloomy weather.”)
It’s May, which means it’s Mental Health Awareness Month, and I want to share something personal—something I share every year because it might just help someone who needs to hear it.
Life is very good for me these days. But—plot twist!—it wasn’t always.
Back in 1995, I had what we used to call a “nervous breakdown.” Whatever the label, I was falling apart. I needed help. I couldn’t fake it anymore. I couldn’t keep smiling while everything inside me was unraveling. I was scared. Embarrassed. I hesitated, because back then, I believed what a lot of people still mistakenly believe: that only “crazy” people go to therapy – you know, the ones who hold conversations with their houseplants and have crystals. I thought asking for help made me weak. But I was so wrong.
I picked up the phone and called a therapist. It was one of the hardest and best decisions I’ve ever made.
That Phone Call Changed My Life.
In that first session, the therapist helped me start to see the things I hadn’t been able to understand on my own. We talked about my father’s alcoholism and how it had shaped my self-worth and ability to trust. That conversation was the beginning of real healing. I found a Twelve-Step program for Adult Children of Alcoholics and sat in rooms with other people who knew what it felt like to be anxious, to be suspicious of joy, to feel like you were somehow “too much” and “not enough” at the same time. I listened to others and started telling the truth about what I’d lived through. And in doing so, I started becoming the version of myself I was always meant to be.
Everything good that’s happened in my life over the last 29 years has come from that turning point—from saying, “I need help,” and giving myself permission to get it. Therapy and medication for anxiety and depression changed my life. They gave me back my voice, my confidence, and the ability to show up in the world with openness and unscary vulnerability.
Speaking of my medication—Wellbutrin and Buspirone—I’ve taken them ever since. They don’t fix everything, but they give my brain the balance it needs to let me live my life fully. They make my lows higher. I’ve gone off them a few times in the past, just to test the waters, and it’s always the same: the world loses a little color, my energy fades, and my spark dims. My wife usually notices first. I’ve come to the logical conclusion that it takes chemistry to fix a chemical imbalance in my brain. Nobody should be ashamed of that.
Maybe you’re reading this and thinking, “Well, I’m not in crisis, but something feels… off.” Maybe you’ve been through things you haven’t really processed. Maybe your brain is feeding you garbage thoughts like “I’m not good enough,” or “I should be able to handle this on my own.” If so, I want you to know: you deserve better.
If you think you might benefit from talking to someone, please do. It doesn’t always have to be a fancy therapist on a couch with throw pillows—your primary care doctor or even someone at a walk-in clinic can help you get started. Medication is usually covered by insurance, and therapy may be more accessible than you think.
You deserve peace. You deserve joy. You deserve to feel lighter. To feel like yourself again. Or, heck, maybe even for the first time. And I promise, asking for help doesn’t make you weak. It makes you someone who values their own life enough to fight for it.
The stigma around mental health is shrinking (thankfully). Celebrities, athletes, and ordinary folks like me are speaking up to say, “Yeah, I struggled—and I got help.” The more we talk about it, the easier it becomes for others to take that first step too.
With love,
Cliffom
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Posted with permission from:
Cliff Batson, CEO
PERRLA, LLc
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