Mental Health, But Make It Performative

There’s a crippling dilemma in modern society, and even more so in America, we are all so caught up in surviving a modern, fascist, capitalist government that we lose sight of the importance of connection and support. Survival becomes the priority. Productivity becomes the measure of worth. And somewhere along the way, community becomes an afterthought instead of a lifeline.

“Check in on your loved ones.”

“Ask for help.”

“You’re not alone.”

"Speak up when you’re struggling.”

We hear these sayings over and over and over again. Usually after we’ve already lost someone to suicide. Suddenly, people come from far and wide, reminding those who still stand that there’s more to life than what you’re going through. That you have to check in on your people. That you have to know how they’re doing.

You’re not alone.

You’re not alone.

You’re not alone.

It’s strange, isn’t it? How this conversation almost exclusively happens in post-mortem declarations. How people only decide to show up and offer support once someone has already slipped through life’s hands. The words get louder when it’s too late. The concern becomes public when the pain is no longer inconvenient.

Where were they when you were drowning?

Where were they when you were begging to be held afloat?

Where were they when “I’m not okay” was met with silence, discomfort, or a quick change of subject?

We talk about mental health as if it exists in a bubble, detached from systems that grind people down and isolate them until they break. We preach awareness without practicing presence. We post slogans without offering bodies, time, or sustained care. And then we act surprised when someone disappears beneath the surface.

Maybe “you’re not alone” shouldn’t be a condolence.

Maybe it should be a practice: loud, consistent, and alive before the loss.