There is a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from trying to survive inside your own mind while the world tells you nothing is wrong.
It is the exhaustion of being misunderstood.
Of being mislabeled.
Of learning, at a very young age, that what you are feeling is either too much or not real at all.
I have lived with mental illness for as long as I can remember. I just did not always know what to call it.
As a child, I did not have the language. I only had the experience of living in a mind that never seemed to quiet down. My thoughts would latch onto something and loop endlessly, circling until I felt like I could not breathe. My emotions did not rise and fall gently. They hit hard. Fast. All at once.
There were moments when I felt like I was lit from the inside out. Talking fast, thinking faster, full of energy, I could not contain. And then there were moments when everything in me slowed to a stop, when even getting out of bed felt like trying to move through cement.
I had obsessions that would not let me go. Thoughts that replayed over and over no matter how badly I wanted them to stop. I had compulsions that felt urgent and necessary, even when I did not understand why. I just knew that if I did not do them, the discomfort inside me would grow until it was unbearable.
I did not understand any of it. I only understood that I felt different.
And in the 1980s, there was no space for a child to say that out loud and be heard.
Mental illness was not a conversation. It was something people ignored, minimized, or brushed aside. The idea that a child could be living with something real, something clinical, something that needed support, was not part of how people thought.
So I was labeled.
Too sensitive.
Too emotional.
Too much.
My mother was doing the best she could, but like so many families at the time, she did not have the tools or the language to see what was really happening. So when I spiraled, it was called a temper tantrum. When I shut down, it was assumed I was just tired.
I was often told to go lie down and take a nap.
I remember going to my room, lying there, staring at the ceiling, my mind still racing, my chest still tight, my thoughts still looping. Nothing had changed except now I was alone with it.
That does something to a child.
It teaches you to doubt yourself.
It teaches you to hide.
It teaches you that what you are experiencing is not something anyone is going to help you understand.
So you carry it. Quietly. For years.
It wasn’t until I got clean and sober at 30 that I finally heard the words that would change everything. Bipolar disorder. Obsessive-compulsive disorder.
I wish I could say that moment felt like relief. In some ways, it did. But it also hurt. Because it meant looking back at my life and realizing how long I had been struggling without knowing why.
At the same time, it gave me something I had never had before.
An explanation.
A name.
A truth I could finally hold onto.
I was not failing. I was not broken. I was living with conditions that had never been recognized.
But even with that understanding, the world does not suddenly become more compassionate.
When I was working at a local school, I saw just how quickly people turn fear into judgment. After being hospitalized due to a medication crisis, an overdose caused by being overmedicated by a former psychiatrist, I became the subject of whispers.
Even though I had never experienced an episode at work, people called me “unhinged.”
That word sticks with you. It follows you. It reduces everything you are into something small and easy for others to dismiss.
In small communities, those labels move fast. And once they are out there, they are hard to take back.
I was no longer being seen for my work, my dedication, or my character. I was being seen through the narrow lens of a diagnosis that people did not understand. The environment shifted. It became heavy. Uncomfortable. Unsafe.
Not because I could not do my job, but because I was no longer being treated like a person.
So I left.
Not because I was incapable.
But because I refused to stay somewhere that stripped me of my dignity.
And that is what stigma does. It does not just hurt feelings. It costs people their sense of safety. Their opportunities. Their place in the world.
We need to talk about why.
The brain is an organ. It is not separate from the body. It can become ill, just like the heart, lungs, or liver. If someone were in heart failure, we would not question their strength or their effort. If someone were in liver failure, we would not tell them to go lie down and hope it passes.
We would show up.
We would act.
We would care.
But when the brain is involved, something shifts.
Suddenly, it becomes personal.
Suddenly, it becomes something people judge.
Something they fear.
Something they distance themselves from.
Mental illness is not a character flaw. It is not a lack of discipline. It is not a choice.
It is a health condition.
And the cost of pretending otherwise is written all over stories like mine.
Living with bipolar disorder and OCD has challenged me in ways that are hard to put into words, but it has also shaped me in ways I carry with me every single day. It has made me deeply empathetic. It has taught me how to sit with pain, not run from it. It has shown me what resilience really looks like.
I know what it feels like to be inside a mind that will not let you rest. I also know what it feels like to keep going anyway.
If this makes you uncomfortable, sit with that feeling. Do not turn away from it. If it challenges what you thought you knew, let it. Because this is not rare.
One in five adults in the United States lives with mental illness.
That means this is not someone else’s story. It is happening all around you.
This Mental Health Awareness Month, we need more than awareness. We need honesty. We need compassion that is not conditional.
Check on people. Really check on them. Not just the ones who seem to be struggling, but especially the ones who seem to have it all together. The ones who show up, perform, smile, and keep moving no matter what is happening inside them.
Those are often the people carrying the most.
I want a world where people with mental illness are not treated with suspicion. Where we do not have to choose between our health and our careers. Where being honest about what we live with does not come with consequences.
We are not broken.
We are not “crazy.”
We are human beings living with an illness.
And we deserve dignity.
We deserve safety.
We deserve to be seen.
I am still here. I am still doing the work. I am still choosing to speak.
Because if one person reads this and feels less alone, then every word is worth it.
Mental health is health.
—Michele L. Weichman is a longtime St. Thomas resident, business owner, educator, writer, mentor, advocacy worker and editor. She is the founder and president of Weichy Wisdom, LLC and serves as the main editor for the Virgin Islands Source.
Editor’s Note: Opinion articles do not represent the views of the Virgin Islands Source newsroom and are the sole expressed opinion of the writer. Submissions can be made to visource@gmail.com.
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National Mental Health Resources
National Suicide & Crisis Lifeline
- 988 (Call or text 24/7)
- 988lifeline.org
Free and confidential support for people in distress.
National Alliance on Mental Illness
- 800-950-NAMI (6264)
- nami.org
Education, advocacy, support groups for individuals and families affected by mental illness.
Crisis Text Line
- Text HELLO to 741741
- crisistextline.org
24/7 free text support from trained counselors.
Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration
- 800-662-HELP (4357)
- samhsa.gov
National helpline for mental health and substance use treatment referrals.
The Trevor Project (LGBTQ+ Youth)
- 1-866-488-7386
- Text START to 678678
- thetrevorproject.org
24/7 crisis support and resources for LGBTQ+ youth.
Veterans Crisis Line
- 800-273-8255, then press 1
- Text 838255
- veteranscrisisline.net
Specialized support for U.S. veterans.
U.S. Virgin Islands Local Resources
V.I. Health Department – Behavioral Health Services
- St. Thomas-St. John district: 340-774-9000
- St. Croix district: 340-718-1311
- doh.vi.gov
Outpatient mental health services, case management, and crisis response.
Frederiksted Health Care, Inc. – Behavioral Health
- 516 Strand Street, Frederiksted, St. Croix
- 340-772-0260
- http://fhc-inc.net/
Offers therapy, psychiatric evaluations, and substance abuse services.
East End Medical Center Corporation – Behavioral Health
- 4605 Tutu Park Mall, St. Thomas
- 340-775-3700
- https://steemcc.org/savant/
Comprehensive medical and behavioral health services on St. Thomas.
Private Mental Health Providers
- Search local listings via Psychology Today – VI Therapists
Directory of licensed therapists, psychologists, and counselors in the Virgin Islands.
Local Peer Support & Recovery
AA – U.S. Virgin Islands
- 340-513-5023
- https://aavirginislands.org/
Island-wide support for those seeking sobriety.
