There are phone calls you forget five minutes later.
And then there are phone calls that settle so deeply into your nervous system that forgetting them is no longer an option.
I got one of those calls Saturday night.
A dear friend called me in the middle of what I can only describe as a psychotic break. I already knew they struggled with depression. I knew there were dark days and stretches where simply existing had become overwhelming.
What I didn’t realize was that reality itself had stopped being reliable for them.
Our conversation bounced between fear, paranoia, confusion, and fragmented thoughts that made less and less sense the longer we talked. At first, I tried to reason with them and remind them of things that are real. I tried to calm them down. I tried to find the magical combination of words that would somehow restore order to their exhausted nervous system.
But eventually I realized I was trying to apply logic and reason to a mind currently incapable of receiving either.
That realization shook me harder than I expected.
Not because I stopped caring. Quite the opposite. It shook me because it forced me to confront how fragile the human brain really is.
We walk around assuming our minds are relatively stable and dependable. But mental illness has a brutal way of reminding us the brain is a fragile organ. Vulnerable. Exhaustible. Capable of betraying us in ways we cannot always predict or understand.
And honestly, the experience left me questioning my own mental health.
Not in a catastrophic way. More in the quiet way that caused me to inventory my own stress, burnout, anxiety, insomnia, and emotional exhaustion.
It made me wonder how many of my dears, nears, and queers are barely hanging on while performing “fine” well enough to get through the day.
Probably more than I realize.
Which feels especially relevant because May is Mental Health Awareness Month. And while the month is almost over, mental health struggles are not confined to thirty-one neatly branded calendar days.
For many people, mental illness is a 24/7/365 fight.
Especially for us queer people. We are statistically more likely to wrestle with anxiety, depression, isolation, substance abuse, and suicidal thoughts while simultaneously being expected to stay resilient and emotionally bulletproof.
That pressure adds up. And sometimes our brains can’t handle it.
We might be comfortable talking about anxiety when it sounds relatable. Depression when it sounds poetic. Burnout when it can supposedly be solved with self-care and a weekend away. But psychosis? Mania? Dissociation? The moments where someone loses their grip on shared reality?
Those conversations tend to clear the room fast.
Still, somewhere in the emotional aftermath of this weekend, I have been trying to find silver linings.
And I found a few.
For starters, my friend called me and trusted me to hear their version of reality.
In the middle of confusion and fear and psychological chaos, some part of them still reached outward instead of disappearing completely inward. Some part of them still trusted another human voice enough to pick up the phone.
The experience has reminded me how important community is. Not performative social media concern. Actual support systems. Real people. Real check-ins. Real intervention when necessary.
Circle the wagon.
Call trusted friends and family.
Call therapists.
Call crisis lines.
Call in the experts.
And while compassion matters deeply, another lesson I’m facing is becoming painfully clear: don’t fall into the black hole of someone else’s crisis.
Support people. Love people. Stay present when you can. But don’t let yourself get psychologically swallowed whole trying to single-handedly rescue someone from an illness that requires professional care and long-term support.
Don’t forget to put your oxygen mask on first, boo. You can’t help stabilize someone else while you’re drowning yourself.
The older I get, the more I realize mental health is not a destination anybody permanently reaches. It is maintenance. Constant maintenance. Sleep. Boundaries. Honest conversations. Therapy. Rest. Asking for help before the wheels of the bus completely come off.
So maybe that is the real takeaway as Mental Health Awareness Month winds down:
Pay attention.
To your friends.
To your family.
To yourself.
To the people insisting they are “fine.”
To the people who suddenly disappear.
To the people whose pain makes you uncomfortable.
The truth is, some people are fighting to stay connected to reality itself while the rest of the world scrolls past them without noticing.
If you’re struggling right now too, holding yourself together while pretending everything is F.I.N.E. (short for “Fucked Up, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional”) I hope you know this:
You are not weak. You are not broken. And you are definitely not alone.
Keep calm and keep in touch!
Clint 🌈✌️
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DEFYING GRAVITY IN A KILT?
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FROM THE ARCHIVES
BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY
05-26 = Alan Hollinghurst (1954- ) = English writer 🌈
05-26 = Kim Coco Iwamoto (1968- ) = Hawaiian-American politician 🌈
05-26 = Mathilde de Morny (1863-1944) = French noblewoman and artist 🌈
05-26 = Sally Ride (1951-2012) = American astronaut 🌈
05-26 = Ulrike Lunacek (1957- ) = Austrian politician 🌈
MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY
“I mean, there are only so many notes. What makes something original is how you put it together.”
Lenny Kravitz
Thank you Clint, for being there for your friend and for all of us. Times are dark. "Circle the wagons." Compassion is understanding that we all suffer, and that we all need to take care of ourselves. Listen when friends reach out. Love them. And remember your boundaries.🌈💖🙏🏼
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