On Made-Up Mental Illnesses

Friendship, misery, and what's choice... or not

Photo by Christopher Ott on Unsplash

If you look through my meager Substack post history from 2025 you might see that, well, it’s not great. I’ve had a really shitty run of luck this year, just like I did in 2015, and from a teenager’s perspective maybe 2005 wasn’t so great either. I’m starting to wonder if my years ending in “5” are cursed. (I think 1995 was a pretty kickass year in my life, from what I recall, so maybe not.)

I wish I could tell you that things have gotten better. They are not bad in the “send us money” way anymore at least, so cross that off your list and save your meager dollars for those worse off unless you are really, really driven to help. (I will spend that money paying off debt and rebuilding savings!)

Ty, Daniel, and my kids are all still doing great, and are a support system in the case of the adults or out having an eventful, fun summer in the case of my children. There are situations involving beloved family members that are currently breaking my heart, but I am not at liberty to discuss those here. I’ve blown up a few more existing friendships and relationships. Not because I did anything, but because I simply… am not there. I wasn’t there, and I’m not there.

I barely feel that I am able to be present. I think, mostly, I can blame the state of the USA. I don’t know what I can do about that I’m not already doing. If I was a single person, I would be leaving the United States. Alas, my family situation is obviously more legally complicated than most. And my kids are in great schools and deserve some stability… if they’re going to get it, anyway.

But recently, someone accused me of having “made-up mental illnesses.” My reaction was apologetic, but…