Lamictal. This is one way to describe my shame. It’s also the name of the medication I take but not because I get seizures — it’s an anticonvulsant — but because it stabilizes my moods.

My moods are more balanced now but the shame remains. In fact, there’s even a bit of shame as I write this — it happens sometimes when I expose my madness publicly. Less and less but the doubt is there; a scolding Eastern European-accented voice (mom?) in my head: Let somebody else embarrass herself by writing about her neuroses. You’re not Lena Dunham.

I don’t hear voices in my head. I’d like to emphasize this so that you don’t think that I have schizophrenia — which is the worst Crazy, right?

It is not; there’s no such thing as “the worst” — if I was writing about cancer I would feel no need to assure you it is not that kind of cancer. But the thing about shame is that it can stigmatize you to yourself. (Incidentally, is there a type of cancer used as an insult the way it’s possible to insult with something like “schizo?” I’m not saying it would be easier to have cancer but cancer is a more socially “acceptable” illness to have. Also, for the record, I’d pick my Crazy over cancer any day.)

“Lamictal. It’s for epilepsy,” I used to tell pharmacists. Not that they asked. I just didn’t want them to picture me walking in my nightgown, in the middle of the street, in the middle of the night, with a backpack full of shoplifted troll dolls. I’ve never done that but that’s the sort of image I conjure when I think of someone who’s impulsive, manic, depressive. To me, admitting that I have bipolar II (and alcoholism) is like saying I am capable of that kind of exploit.

So, yes, maybe I should let somebody else embarrass herself in public. Maybe I’m embarrassing my family. Not a huge surprise: According to the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health (CAMH), only 50 per cent of Canadians would disclose a family member has mental illness (sorry, mom!), compared to 72 per cent who would discuss a diagnosis of cancer and 68 per cent who would talk about a family member having diabetes. Continuing: 55 per cent wouldn’t marry a Crazy and 42 per cent wouldn’t befriend one. Then there’s the 39 per cent who wouldn’t disclose mental-health issues to their employer.

The final blow: 46 per cent of Canadians think people use the term mental illness as an excuse for bad behaviour. And these sorts of numbers are precisely what keeps people away from getting help and why they feel guilty about needing help.

Once a year, we’ve got this one special, special day called End the stigma: Bell Let’s Talk when we talk about mental health on social media. A few hashtags about mental-health issues and then it’s another day and the shame is still there. “Stigma” has become this trendy, empty word — what exactly are we doing about it? Personally, I’m just white-knuckling through it. “Almost one half (49 per cent) of those who feel they have suffered from depression or anxiety have never gone to see a doctor about this problem,” according to CAMH.

“Therapy can actually help one learn how to live with their existing shame and guilt in a healthier way. Do shame and guilt ever really go away? Not sure, but with therapy it can get easier to tolerate them and not have them become a source to cause one to react inwardly or outwardly in a negative way. In terms of overriding shame or guilt, simple answer: Better stomaching that discomfort than not using the mental-health services,” says Naomi Gaskin, a Toronto-based psychotherapist.

When I press “9” in the elevator at the hospital (Psychiatric Unit) to see my therapist, I’m still stomaching it. My therapist says to try to see myself as a friend — would I not want my friend to feel better? I would.

I’m not my own friend yet. For now, I press “9” because if I don’t, I will die. Dramatic? Sure. But it helps to be dramatic. Instead of coyly hashtagging once a year about your anxiety, addiction, depression…think about it this way: If you don’t get help, your shame might kill you. Mental-health illness is deadlier than a car crash: On the average there are 2,500 motor-vehicle-related deaths a year, but “almost 4,000 Canadians die by suicide,” according to CAMH. Furthermore, “About 230,000 Ontarians report having seriously contemplated suicide in 2013. Among Ontarians aged 25 to 34, one of every eight deaths is related to opioid use.”

There are 6,700 deaths each year resulting from alcohol.

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I don’t want to die. I press “9.” I go up.