BE HEARD Vol. 0.2
Suffer in Silence?
Illustration created by Oamalgam Studios
May is Mental Health Awareness Month, but the truth is—this conversation shouldn’t be limited to just 31 days. Mental health is something we carry every single day, and for some of us, it’s a heavy weight we’ve been taught to hide.
A lot of people don’t understand mental health—either because they’ve never truly experienced it or because they’ve gotten so good at suppressing their own emotions, they believe it’s something you can simply “get over.” I used to be one of them. I thought if you were struggling, you just needed to tough it out, lock in, and push through. That was me—until I couldn’t control it anymore. Until it all came crashing down.
As someone living with bipolar disorder and severe anxiety, I’ve come to understand the importance of speaking openly—not just for myself, but for those who can’t find the words yet. It’s a duty, one I carry with intention, to spread awareness and create space for honesty. Because silence? Silence almost broke me.
A few months back, I resigned from my job. The mental strain was too much, and I was honorably discharged from the army for my mental health diagnosis—not for anything dramatic or wrong, but because my mind and body simply couldn’t keep carrying what I had been hiding. I ended up in the ER, thinking I was having a heart attack. But it wasn’t my heart—it was panic attacks. And they were paralyzing.
If you took the path I took, you know—we don’t talk about mental health. We don’t say “I’m not okay.” Pain has to be physical for it to count. So we get good at burying things deep. Too good. And looking back now, that silence was one of the most dangerous places I’ve ever been.
Five months removed, I’m healing. I’m learning. I’m taking things day by day—with the constant support of my wife, who has been a grounding force through it all. There is no quick fix. But there is progress.
I’m currently attending UB for Cognitive Science. Some days, I sit in class just observing—something I used to be paid to do as a correction officer. Now, I look around and I see what I recognize all too well: a room full of young people, many of them looking like walking panic attacks. No, I’m not a doctor. But I’ve lived enough, felt enough, and seen enough to know when something isn’t right.
We’re living in a time where chaos is normalized. School shootings, war, political dysfunction—they come across our screens as casually as a football score. Meanwhile, our younger generations are medicated, overstimulated, and emotionally exhausted. They’re crumbling under pressure with no safe place to land. And we wonder why so many of them feel disconnected or defeated.
I say all this not to rant, but to remind you: mental health is real. It doesn’t care about your race, status, background, or strength. It affects anyone. Everyone. And it deserves more than just a passing headline.
Let’s not let our youth grow up learning to suffer in silence the way many of us did. Let’s make mental wellness a consistent conversation. Let’s remind one another that it’s okay to not be okay. There is light at the end of the tunnel—but you’ve got to be willing to look within and speak up.
Self-reflection is where healing starts. And checking in on your people? That’s a responsibility, not an option.
To anyone out there struggling: You’re not weak. You’re not alone. And this moment doesn’t define your future.
Let’s create space to talk, to feel, and most importantly—to heal.
