Tag: stigma

Voices Carry

~ Randy Seaver ~ 3 Comments

I understand that tensions are high, and that feelings are raw on the national political stage, but I still think we can engage in robust discussion and debate without marginalizing millions of Americans who suffer daily with varying degrees of mental illness.

Reading some of the social media commentary regarding the U.S. Senate confirmation hearings for Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., yesterday I was struck by the sheer delight that so many people were showing in joking about Kennedy’s rather obvious illness and his past behavior that can only be described as somewhat bizarre.

I also found it strange and somewhat sad that the majority of these pejorative comments were coming from those who generally hang out on the left side of the political aisle.

Generally speaking, Democrats will typically trip over themselves to use words like ‘diversity’ and “inclusion” at every given opportunity, eagerly patting themselves on the back for their moral leadership, always sensitive to use the right pronouns and to advance the cause of those marginalized by society for a variety of reasons.

Make no mistake, the progressive left is not wrong in its ongoing push to break down barriers and advance the cause of civil rights for all Americans. But it seems there is still a lot of work to do.

Photo: Pittsburg Post-Gazette

We should all – Democrats, Republicans, Independents — be striving to treat one another with respect and dignity, regardless of political affiliation.

In just my lifetime, our nation has made incredible strides to break down barriers and to advance opportunities for all Americans, regardless of their race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation or religion.

The Civil Rights Act of 1964 was a watershed moment, yet more than 60 years later racism remains pervasive in our culture. And, consider this, it was only 30 years ago when we adopted a policy of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.”

Clearly, we are making tremendous progress, and there is no doubt that Democrats are generally the ones leading that charge, continually pushing and reminding us that there are still barriers and challenges we must face when it comes to inclusion, equity and respect.

However, it is apparently still okay to make jokes about those who struggle with mental illness.

It is apparently still okay to make jokes about those who struggle with mental illness.

I am in no way advocating for the confirmation of Mr. Kennedy. I am convinced – beyond a shadow of a doubt – that he is not qualified for the position.

But — as someone who lives day in and day out with a rather pronounced and significant mental illness, I cringe every time I hear terms such as “nutjob,” “whacko,” “psycho” and “Looney Tunes.”

Even Hollywood elites still – today — refer to psychiatrists as “shrinks.”

We fly rainbow flags — and for good reason — but yet we casually gloss over the stigma and shame that is still a very big fact of life for those battling an often-hidden illness that is no different than any other illness.

From a political party that gleefully accepts a mantra of “F%ck Your Feelings,” I have learned to almost accept and expect their callous disregard for minorities. I cringe. I shake my head and let out a deep sigh.

But when that same discrimination comes from the political party that is all about ending discrimination, I wonder if I will live long enough to see an end to mental illness stigma. I wonder if we will ever get to a place where mental illness is treated with parity in both treatment and insurance reimbursement in the United States.

If I told you that I developed brain cancer, your reaction would likely be one filled with immediate empathy and support.

Many times, when I do work up the courage to tell someone that I am struggling, people will tell me to try being more positive and to stop feeling sorry for myself.

Really? Do you not realize that my brain does not work properly?

A few months ago, a veteran journalist who I greatly respect told me I should stop writing blog posts about my struggles with mental illness. “Nobody really cares about that,” he said.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe nobody does care. But I am going to keep writing about it, because I have heard from scores of people who are grateful that I am willing to talk publicly about depression, anxiety and yes—even my bouts with schizophrenia.

My writing about it, apparently helps these people feel safe and not so alone in the world. Many people have family members suffering from varying forms of mental illness. If I can help just one person by talking about it; well then, I’m going to keep talking and writing about it.

Am I being overly sensitive? Just feeling sorry for myself?

Everybody gets depressed sometimes, it’s natural. Shake it off, people say.

Allow me to give you a few examples to point out why clinical depression and anxiety are very different than normal grief and worry.

I am relatively well known in my small hometown of Biddeford. Some people see me as someone who is connected to the community’s power structure, as someone who is outspoken, brash and sarcastic – – a thick-skinned egomaniac in love with the sound of his own voice and always happy to bloviate and share his opinion about local news.

I am also one of the admins for a community Facebook page of more than 18,000 members, and a few of them somehow believe that I control all communication in the city of Biddeford, and that I am nothing more than a happy-go-lucky Biddeford sycophant.

Sure, okay. Some of that may be true. I do tend to be a snarky loudmouth. But I am not connected to any “power structure.” Most mornings, I have a hard time finding my slippers. I struggle with math and puzzles, so I’m not that bright.

Writing is what I hold onto. I enjoy it, and it helps me relax and stay focused.

But there is also a dark side of my life that I rarely show to anyone, including friends and family.

Just a few weeks ago, while Laura was still at work, I went down to the basement of my home and huddled while crying because I was absolutely convinced that the “government” was trying to covertly beam information into my brain, and I wanted to be surrounded by concrete.

If someone doesn’t immediately return my call or text, I start to spiral, becoming paranoid and will often assume that person must now hate me and is now talking about me behind my back.

I generally live in almost constant fear. It has been that way since I can remember. I was a shy kid with few friends and lived in a pretend world of fantasy of my own creation, but I was always scared. Always scared.

I was scared of other kids, scared that an airplane would crash into my home. Terrified about changes in weather.

Today, as an adult, if something breaks – the toilet flapper, a leaky faucet or broken light switch, I panic.

I refuse to use my CPAP for treating my sleep apnea, because sometimes (not always) I become somewhat concerned about what information is being transmitted while I sleep. Is this the way the CIA plants messages in my brain?

I generally live in almost constant fear. It has been that way since I can remember.

If I have to drive more than 10 miles, I start to feel anxious. Someone is probably going to cross the center line and kill me. What will I do when my dog dies? While driving, I keep my racing thoughts in check by continually calculating the distance and time I have yet to travel.

It’s friggin’ exhausting.

I am almost always afraid. Fear consumes almost every single day.

So, how do I cope? How do I force myself out of bed each day? Well for starters, I take five different medications. They help me function but they also affect everything from my libido to my weight.

With the meds, I can pretend to be normal, funny, outspoken. When I’m taking my meds, I shower every day and brush my teeth. I see a psychiatrist and a therapist, although sometimes it feels like I’m a dog chasing its tail.

Can you imagine how hard it is to live with me? I honestly don’t know how Laura does it. I don’t know what she sees in me. Almost every day, I ask her if she is upset with me and whether she is thinking of filing for divorce.

My rock and salvation

I am only alive today because I was too stupid to figure out how to properly load the cheap Lorcin .380 handgun I bought on impulse on an especially dark night in October 1993. I put that gun in my mouth and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. I sat in the middle of the floor and cried uncontrollably before calling 911. Yep, back to the hospital again.

I have been hospitalized more than 20 times – voluntarily and involuntarily — since being honorably discharged from the U.S. Air Force back in 1982.

I was last hospitalized in 2016. This is the longest stretch of my adult life outside of a psychiatric unit.

I am lucky. I have good health insurance. I have an amazing and supportive spouse. I am not facing food nor housing insecurity. Surprisingly, despite my terrible diet and complete lack of exercise, I am relatively healthy.

I also have several really good friends. I rely on them. Heavily.

With all those things, I can work, function and be a contributing member of society. More often than not, mental illness is an invisible illness.

If you ever wonder why more people don’t seek treatment or get help, just look at some of those Facebook comments that were made about Mr. Kennedy this week.

It’s 2025, and stigma is still a thing. Let’s all try to do better.

Thank you.

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Balance and perception a.k.a. ‘Shit happens’

~ Randy Seaver ~ 8 Comments

An obvious aliment

Over the last few days, I have learned some valuable lessons.

First and foremost, I was reminded this week that I am extraordinarily blessed to have a diverse cadre of superior friends and family members.

I also learned a valuable lesson about ladders, not to mention a very painful experience that drove home the importance of why access to affordable and quality health care is so important for our national security.

But having so much down time has also allowed me to reflect on at least two other subjects: balance and perception.

During this presidential election season we have all heard a bunch of rhetoric about “self-reliance” and about “being in this together.” But which philosophy is correct?

Just like working with a ladder, the most important lesson is too often forgotten: it’s all about balance.

And we lose our balance when our perceptions become too narrowly defined.

A week ago, I broke my left arm in two different places while helping my sons with their landscaping business. The injuries, although significant, will eventually heal.

These last few days have been tough. It’s amazing how much you take for granted the use of two working arms. For example, try zipping up your pants with one arm. Or opening a bottle of pain meds; typing or driving a vehicle with a standard transmission.

Most people understand those limitations. They instantly empathize, and are quick to offer assistance. After all, my injuries are very obvious. My arm is either in a sling or set into a wrap-around corset to keep it in place. I have visible wounds on my legs and my elbow.

Strangers ask what happened with sympathetic voices, and they often share with me their own similar experiences. My friends laugh with me about how the accident happened. It’s okay and acceptable to make jokes about it.

We are comfortable with physical injuries. They do not frighten us. Shit happens.

Anyone who has ever smashed their elbow into a 3-inch-thick slab of stone knows that it is a painful injury. They know why you need to take it easy and sometimes need the use of medication to cope or just sleep through the night.

I say all this because these experiences provided me with a very stark contrast to my much less obvious injuries; the disease that is invisible to the eye, that is masked by perception.

On balance (no pun intended) my mental illness is far more painful than a broken arm. But you can’t see it, and I am reluctant to show it to you.

Imagine a disease that rarely allows you to sleep through an entire night. A disease that constantly impacts your perception of the world around you; a disease that clouds your judgment, alters your reality and makes it almost impossible to get out of bed.

Imagine an intense level of pain that without medication would have you think every hour of every day about ending your life; a disease that inhibits your ability to maintain relationships and function as a productive member of society.

Imagine having a disease that is commonly ridiculed and often dismissed as nothing more than “feeling sorry for yourself.”

I live with the challenges of that disease every day. I fight it with every fiber of my existence, only to know that it will never go away; that there is no cure or remedy.

I refuse to allow my broken arm to alter my life. This last week has been one of the busiest and most challenging weeks of my professional career, and I have risen to each and every challenge.

Am I bragging? Yes, but only to make a point. This is the way the overwhelming majority of people who suffer from a mental illness operate. They struggle through each day. They go to work. They mask their pain. They pay their bills. They follow the law. They take their meds and follow their doctor’s orders.

They wince when they hear the words “sicko, whack job and nut case,” but they swallow and stay silent for fear of being labeled, judged or excluded.

They are just like you. They are your neighbors, your friends and your co-workers. They did not choose to become sick any more than you would choose to fall off a ladder. They are some of the most self-reliant people you will ever meet. They have abundant courage and determination.

We all have limitations. The trick is learning to balance and to expand your range of perception. With those tools, you can fix just about anything.

Pocketful of Kryptonite

~ Randy Seaver ~ 1 Comment

Although it was 30 years ago this week, I still remember the day like it was yesterday.

I came home from high school and flipped on the television. The news was on, and that was strange because this was long before the days of CNN, MSNBC or Fox News. Back then, there was no such thing as the internet.

So why was the news on during the afternoon?

The president had been shot.

Only a few months earlier, John Lennon was gunned down in front of his New York City apartment building. We didn’t know it then, but in a few more weeks there would be an assassination attempt on Pope John Paul II.

Violence was everywhere, it seemed.

Welcome to 1981. I am a junior at Rumford High School. My orthodontic braces had just been removed, and I am living with my uncle and aunt in West Peru, Maine while my parents continue a bitter divorce process.

I am going back there tomorrow. I am going back to my old high school, where I painted a mural on the wall of my English teacher’s classroom.

I am also reminded that the more things change, the more they stay the same.

“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it,” said 19th Century philosopher George Santayana

When Ronald Reagan was president, U.S. Rep. Gabrielle Giffords was 11 years old, John Lennon was buried, and I was struggling with acne.

John Lennon, Ronald Reagan, Gabrielle Giffords, Pope John Paul II.

And Maine Governor Paul LePage.

Wait! What? Paul LePage?

No, LePage was not shot, but he did receive a death threat from Michael Thomas, a Portland man who allegedly vowed to assassinate him and reportedly suffers from a history of mental instability.

John Lennon, Ronald Reagan, Gabby Giffords, Pope John Paul II and Paul Lepage. Now there’s an interesting group of people, all of whom stir some sort of reaction.

But what about this next group of individuals?

Mark Chapman, John Hinckley, Jared Loughner, Mehmet Ali Ağca and Michael Thomas. They all have at least two things in common.

One: They are all currently in jail.

While some folks may use these tragedies to demand tougher gun laws, or to discuss political motivations, the other common thread shared by our second group of men is almost always sensationalized by both the media and general public .

Each of these men has a mental illness.

(Sidebar: There are several theories, including a Tom Clancy novel, about Ağca, the man who attempted to assassinate the Pope,and his political motivations and reported connections to the KGB, but there is little doubt that he is mentally unstable, especially if you begin perusing transcripts of interviews with him after the shooting in Vatican Square.)

We like to ignore mental illness. It is an uncomfortable topic, but not one that should be dismissed. Otherwise, as demonstrated above, the consequences can be fatal.

These high-profile crimes and the men behind them add to the burden of mental health advocates who fight daily against the stigma associated with mental illness.

In fact, violent acts committed by people with serious mental illness comprise an exceptionally small proportion of the overall violent crime rate in the U.S. They are more likely to be the victims of violence, not its perpetrators, according to the National Association of Social Workers (NASW)

In its March 2011 article, “Budgets Balanced at Expense of Mentally Ill,” the NASW newsletter also mentions a new report by the U.S. Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration that documents a nationwide decline in behavioral health care spending as a share of all health care spending, from 9.3 percent in 1986 to just 7.3 percent, or $135 billion out of $1.85 trillion, in 2005.

Moreover, high-profile incidents such as John Hinckley’s attempted assassination of President Reagan also give apparent permission for the media to stereotype and hype mental illness as one that will likely produce violent crime.

In the days following the 2007 massacre at Virginia Tech, “Nightly newscasts reported “no known motive” and focused on the gunman’s anger, sense of isolation, and preoccupation with violent revenge. No one who read or saw the coverage would learn what a psychotic break looks like, nor that the vast majority of people with mental disorders are not violent. This kind of contextual information is conspicuously missing from major newspapers and TV,” wrote Richard Friedman in “Media and Madness,” an article published in the June 23, 2008 issue of The American Prospect.

Friedman goes on to explain that “Hollywood has benefited from a long-standing and lurid fascination with psychiatric illness,” referencing movies such as Psycho, The Silence of the Lambs, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and Fatal Attraction.

According to Friedman, “exaggerated characters like these may help make “average” people feel safer by displacing the threat of violence to a well-defined group.”

As a former journalist and a current communications consultant, I am naturally drawn to issues surrounding journalism and those who are employed by the so-called Fourth Estate.

And as someone who has been battling mental illness all my life, I know a thing or two about the effects of stigma.

And that’s why I’m going back to my old high school. I will be the keynote speaker at a symposium on mental health stigma.

The Carter Center does a succinct job of defining the problems associated with stigma:

“In ancient times the word stigma was defined as ‘A mark burned into the skin of a criminal or slave, a brand.’ This inhumane treatment was metered out to criminals and anyone felt to be a threat to society. Have we really come so far today? Just mention depression or worse Bipolar to most employers, family or friends and the reaction’s generally a negative one.”

Superman and Lois Clark

Maybe you remember the 1978 movie Superman.

The movie may have been cheesy, but the cast was stunning. Some of Hollywood’s most enduring and iconic figures were featured in that film, including Marlon Brando, Gene Hackman, Ned Beatty, Valerie Perrine and Margot Kidder.

The film also launched the career of Christopher Reeve, a handsome, muscular man who was cast in the leading role as the Man of Steel.

While participating in a 1995 equestrian competition in Virginia, Reeve was severely injured and became paralyzed. His injuries elicited support from all over the globe. He spent the rest of his brief life trying to help others with spinal cord injuries and established the Christopher Reeve Foundation.

He was a sympathetic hero. He touched us all. The man of steel could not escape this batch of Kryptonite. He died in October 2004 and millions mourned his passing.

Now, let us examine the fate of Superman’s leading lady, Margot Kidder, a successful actress who was cast as the petulant, cynical and manic reporter, Lois Clark.

A year after Reeve was paralyzed, Kidder was found by police hiding in the bushes in a suburban neighborhood near Los Angeles, California. She was taken into custody for a psychiatric evaluation.

The world was not so nice to Ms. Kidder.

Kidder has a bipolar disorder, so she became fair game for the media, late night comedians and a slew of derisive web site commentary. She was certainly no Superman.

She was human, frail and vulnerable but in a different way than her co-star, and that difference was best amplified by the ridicule that continues to follow her today, some 15 years after her illness became fodder for her former Hollywood colleagues.

Maybe that’s why fellow Superman star Marlon Brando spent so many years keeping his mental illness a secret.

By the time Superman was released in 1978, Brando was already known as one of Hollywood’s most iconic figures. The star of “On the Waterfront” and “The Godfather,” he was a tough guy’s tough guy.

But his mental illness apparently was a bit tougher.

Brando was a deeply troubled man struggling with depression, anger, and loneliness, according to those who knew him and detailed in an article by the National Center on Physical Activity and Disability.

Brando was from a generation of those who didn’t talk about mental illness. A generation that believed depression was little more than self-pity run amok or some other sort of character flaw.

It was that same generation of actors which produced the original Superman, George Reeves.

George Reeves (no relation to Christopher) was an actor best known for his leading role in the 1950s television series, The Adventures of Superman.

Reeves’ untimely death at age 45 was officially ruled as a suicide by police, although there is much speculation about that fact, most notably in the 2006 film Hollywoodland, which stars Ben Affleck as George Reeves.

Whether Reeves committed suicide is irrelevant and will probably remain a mystery for a long time to come.

But we do know how Hollywood would have treated him if he had talked publicly about battling depression.

Just ask Lois Lane.

Testimony in support of LD 364

~ Randy Seaver ~ Leave a comment

A copy of the testimony I presented to the Maine Legislature’s Joint Standing Committee on Insurance and Financial Services on March 2, 2011

Re: LD 364, Resolve, Directing Updated Review and Evaluation of Maine’s Mental Health Parity Law

 Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen of the committee. Thank you for the opportunity to speak to you today about the importance and my support of LD 364.

My name is Randy Seaver, and I am here.

Ladies and Gentlemen, if that statement seems vague, please allow me to explain. From my perspective, it is nothing short of a miracle that I am able to stand before you today and testify about the critical importance of maintaining Maine’s mental health parity legislation.

What do you see when you look at me? Perhaps you see a father, a husband or a communications consultant? Maybe you know me from some of the other state policy work I have been involved with over the last several years. Perhaps you know me as a veteran; or as a former journalist and newspaper editor.

In fact, I am all of those things. But what you may not know is that I am also someone with a mental illness who requires daily medication and ongoing treatment. I am not unique. I am not an anomaly. In fact, I am just like the thousands of other Maine people who suffer from some sort of mental illness.

If you think my numbers are high, please consider that the Centers for Disease Control estimates that 1 of every five Americans suffers from some form of mental illness. Based on the latest Census figures regarding Maine’s population, the math will tell you that there are more than 200,000 people just like me in Maine.

We are your neighbors, your friends, your co-workers and colleagues.

Mental illness is no different in its implications than any other form of disease, such as Diabetes or epilepsy. Would you think of me any differently if I stood before you to talk about insurance coverage for diabetics?

My illness, as long as it is treated properly, is virtually impossible to detect. When addressed through medication and regular clinician visits, my illness does not prevent me from doing things that so many us take for granted: holding a job, maintaining a marriage, volunteering in the community and yes, even paying taxes that support our communities.

But there is another side of that coin because I know all too well the costs associated without access to treatment and medications. Between 1982 and 1998, I was in and out of various hospital settings and unable to hold a job or maintain a relationship.

In fact, if you were to eat just one whoopee pie for every time I was hospitalized during that 16-year time frame, you would die of hypoglycaemic shock before you were halfway there.

When Jared Loughner committed his horrific acts of violence in Tucson, I knew that I had a responsibility to speak up publicly about both the stigma associated with mental illness and the need to ensure that people have fair access to treatments and medications.

You see, Jared Loughner and I are not that much different. The only real difference is that I was able to receive treatment and medication, and that I take responsibility for managing my illness.

Those two things are important, and they are the only reasons why I am here today, and not in prison, a hospital ward or a morgue.

But without access to treatment, how am I able to take responsibility for managing my illness? If I pay the same insurance premium as my neighbor, why should an insurance company view my illness any differently?

Access to medication and ongoing treatment allows me to be a productive member of my community. Without that access, it is likely that I will end up in a hospital. If I’m not working, I’m unable to support myself. I am not paying income taxes or contributing to the economy as a consumer of goods and services. Wouldn’t you agree that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure?

Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Randy Seaver, and I am here!

I am here to plead with you to maintain and support Maine’s mental health parity law.

Tucson shootings and the costs of stigma

~ Randy Seaver ~ 2 Comments

(originally published in the January 11, 2011 Portland Press Herald)

The horrific event that transpired in Tucson on Saturday has inspired more than ample discussion regarding the tone and spirit of our nation’s political discourse.

Despite all the fervent commentary, there is one piece of this puzzle that remains largely glossed over, however.

And this is where it gets a bit personal.

When I was 22, I was living in Tucson and attending college part-time. Just like Jared Loughner, I was removed from school for many of the same reasons.

But I got lucky. I ended up at the Southern Arizona Mental Health Center (SAMHC) and spent the next several weeks there as an inpatient client.

I did not have insurance. I did not have any assets or even a job. My family was in Maine, thousands of miles away. So, my ability to receive life-saving treatment and long-term support services was funded primarily on the backs of Arizona taxpayers.

Nearly a quarter century later, I like to think that investment has, so far, paid significant dividends. But I can assure you, it was a long-term and risky investment.

Make no mistake. Mr. Loughner committed horrific, criminal acts that warrant the full weight of justice. But if society expects and demands justice, we must also recognize that there is a very deep and painful cost associated with scaling down or the elimination of community-based mental health services and treatment options.

According to its web site, SAMHC was officially established in 1962 as a state-owned and operated outpatient mental health facility under the aegis of the Arizona State Hospital.  The campus-style facility, then located at the intersection of Campbell Avenue and 6th Street, was purchased through legislative appropriation.

Nearly 50 years after its founding, SAMHC continues to provide crisis behavioral health services to the entire community, regardless of ability to pay, insurance status or age.

As of this writing, it is unclear whether Loughner attempted to access those services or if he or members of his family made any attempt to deal with his now-obvious illness.

What is clearly known, however, is the commentary our society freely tosses around when describing mental illness.

Unfortunately, the terms “sicko” “whack-job” and “nut case” are apparently acceptable on social media outlets, reader comment pages and even in the so-called mainstream media.

Yet, we wonder with righteous indignation why those affected by mental illness are reluctant to seek services or get help before their illness manifests itself into a deadly outcome.

If I were dealing with testicular cancer, I could expect to be described as a “hero” or as a “survivor.”  I am praised for my courage to acknowledge my illness and for my willingness to fight it tooth and nail with all available resources.

Heck, you might even put a bumper sticker on your car, wear a pink bracelet or post something supportive on your Facebook page.

But what if I tell you I have a diagnosed mental illness; an illness that affects me every day; an insidious, almost-invisible illness for which there is no cure?

I get some nervous head nods or even some encouragement in the form of: “pull yourself up by your bootstraps, try positive thinking, you should appreciate things more.”

Well-intentioned, perhaps, but the stigma and its costs are clear.

Though we have made much progress, I can assure you that we have a long, long way to go.

Only because I was able to access services and am willing to deal every day with my disease am I able to do things now that I once thought impossible: hold a job, enjoy a wonderful marriage, own a home and even hold a driver’s license.

So, some may choose to focus on the debate regarding our nation’s political rhetoric.

But whether we’re talking about John Hinckley, Mark Chapman or the more recent example of Jared Loughner, one thing we should all be able to recognize is that mental illness can be a fatal illness – and if left untreated, its costs are overwhelming.

According to the Centers for Disease Control, one of every five Americans suffers from some form of mental illness.

I hope you agree with me that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.