Mental Health Awareness Month: We Are Not Okay

So. It’s May.

Autism Awareness Month is over. I said I was off-script. I declared myself free of theme-month obligations. I triumphantly declared: “No more topical content.”

That lasted about three weeks.

Because now it’s May. Mental Health Awareness Month. Which is kind of hilarious, considering the national mood is one part existential dread, two parts rage-spiral, and twelve parts “wait, is this really happening?”

So I’ll save us the performance:

I’m not okay.

You’re probably not okay.

And the system we’re all trying to survive inside? Definitely not okay.

And before anyone gets nervous, this isn’t a cry for help. It’s a status report. It’s the memo you send when the building is technically still standing, but the fire alarms are going off, the ceiling is leaking, and someone just asked if we could “reframe this as a growth opportunity.”

No. We cannot.

The Blog Was Supposed to Be About Office Updates

Let’s rewind.

I didn’t mean to write about policy, or politics, or systems. But then I wrote something honest. And people read it. And apparently, if you yell into the internet with just enough clarity and caffeine, people start listening. And then they start asking for more. So yeah, I’m the blog guy now. Fine.

A blog that was originally supposed to feature things like “how to fill out your intake paperwork” and “what to expect from your first session.”

Now we’re talking about systemic collapse.

Because the system won’t stop collapsing.

And pretending otherwise is bad for morale.

The Actual Reality

If you’ve been avoiding the news to protect your sanity, first of all, good call. But here’s the short version of what’s happening outside the therapy room:

• Donald Trump is president again. No footnote needed. You were there.
• RFK Jr., a man whose medical insights include “Wi-Fi might be evil”, is now Secretary of Health and Human Services. He launched a national autism registry, under the nauseating slogan of “eradicating autism,” as if we’re a pest control problem.
• Dr. Oz, known for shouting about miracle supplements between daytime TV ads, is in charge of Medicare. You’re not hallucinating.
• People are being disappeared to El Salvador for being “suspected gang members”. No due process necessary, just good old suspicion doing all the heavy lifting. And the criteria of which is vague enough to mean whatever they want it to mean, including “you looked inconvenient.”

This is not a Black Mirror episode. This is real life. This is the context in which we’re supposed to have Mental Health Awareness Month.

So yeah. Happy May, everyone. Please enjoy your free sticker and impossible choice between rage and apathy.

“Awareness” Is Not the Issue

Let’s clear something up: mental health is not an awareness issue.

It’s an access issue.

It’s a power issue.

It’s a policy issue.

It’s an issue of who gets care, who gets criminalized, and who gets quietly disappeared because their existence makes the state uncomfortable.

When people in power talk about “raising awareness,” what they often mean is “We’d like credit for acknowledging a problem we’re actively making worse.”

So no. Awareness isn’t enough. You know what would help? Fewer barriers. More therapists. More access to care. And let’s talk about that care as it exists now, shall we?

Getting Help: A Choose-Your-Own Bureaucratic Horror

Let’s say you decide it’s time to get help. Bold move (it shouldn’t have to be, but it is). You deserve a trophy just for Googling “therapists near me” without immediately closing the tab in despair, because it often looks like this…

You start calling.

Voicemail.

Full.

No openings.

Waitlist.

No callback.

Out-of-network.

$180 a session.

Payment due up front.

Insurance “might” reimburse you after 6-12 weeks, assuming Mercury is in retrograde and you filed the correct 19-digit claim code.

At this point, you begin to suspect that the system isn’t broken, it’s working exactly as designed: to filter out anyone who doesn’t have an MBA in “calling the same office four times.”

A Rare Plot Twist: Illinois Isn’t Awful

Here’s a twist.

I live in Illinois. And for reasons I cannot explain and will not question, we actually don’t suck at this.

We have mental health parity laws that kind of work. Medicaid covers therapy. Private insurance plans are legally required to pretend you’re a human being. You can, in some cases, actually get therapy without selling your car or pawning your grandmother’s engagement ring.

It’s not perfect. You still have to make calls. There’s still paperwork. But compared to most of the country, Illinois is… better.

If you’re here and you didn’t know your insurance might actually cover this stuff? Look it up. Call someone (or e-mail me, I can at least point you in the right direction). You might be pleasantly surprised. Which, if you’re like me, is not an emotion you’re used to.

If you’re not in Illinois and this section made you angry, that’s valid. Geography should not determine whether you get care or collapse. And yet, here we are. America: land of fifty healthcare realities and one national “wellness” campaign.

Why I’m Still Doing This

I never wanted to be the voice of the blog.

I was supposed to be scheduling appointments, fixing billing codes, and deleting suspicious spam from our email like a glorified digital janitor.

But then the system started catching fire.

And I kept writing.

And now here we are.

I’m not doing this for clicks. I’m doing this because the people making decisions are launching autism registries and pretending it’s public health. And I’m autistic. And I’m tired.

RFK Jr. launching a registry of autistic people isn’t a weird PR gaffe. It’s a threat.

Dr. Oz managing Medicare is not quirky casting. It’s malpractice at scale.

If I’m going to watch the system fall apart, I might as well take notes.

Why This Post Exists

If you’re exhausted, it’s not because you’re lazy.

If you’re irritable, it’s not because you’re broken.

If you’re crying in the frozen food aisle, it’s not a personal failure.

You are reacting like a normal human to an abnormal amount of stress, neglect, gaslighting, and performative wellness.

You’re not behind. You’re not unmotivated. You’re not “too much.”

You’re just tired. And you should be.

This is what happens when everyone’s supposed to be strong, calm, self-aware, and “resilient”, while also living through the world’s worst group project.

Still Here, Somehow

So, no. I’m not okay. And I’m not pretending to be.

But I’m still here.

Still coordinating schedules.

Still fixing invoices.

Still yelling into the void and occasionally rage-writing blog posts because somebody has to.

And if all you can do this month is survive with your humanity intact, that’s not weakness.

That’s resistance.

That’s mental health.

Welcome to Mental Health Awareness Month 2025.

It’s worse than you thought. You’re not imagining it.

You’re not alone.

You’re more valid than they want you to believe.

And we’re still here.

Even if everything’s on fire.