By sixteen, I was desperate to understand, no, to predict what might cause a minor “hey, that’s a silly thing to do!” versus a full-blown fight. If I could predict it, I could prevent it from happening by being perfect. If I couldn’t predict it, and I got into trouble, I’d always feel shame. I felt it was my job to solve every emotional mystery. To have known better and been one step ahead. And anyone in my family being upset meant I failed at it.

Not only is there still a lot of stigma surrounding mental health, but the nature of some illnesses is that it’s easy enough to assume you have it under control, that you’re fine or insert your excuse here. That's why it's hard to argue with someone if they believe they are truly ok.