Chicago, IL – While most people feel comfortable discussing health issues like constipation or a C-section scar with family and friends, a significant stigma persists around conversations about mental health. Mention you’re feeling depressed, and within seconds, the room falls silent as friends suddenly remember urgent appointments and reach for their car keys.
This generalized fear of discussing mental health plagues families, workplaces, and casual conversations. Experts say people treat the phrase “I’m depressed” with the same urgency as someone announcing, “I have anthrax in my backpack.”
Dr. Linda Lithium, a professor of Social Awkwardness at Yale, said, “It’s like mental health is Washington politics—you don’t want to know about it, or hear about it, but if you do, it just might make you squirm in your chair.”
Despite public campaigns urging people to “start the conversation,” these chats often fail to go anywhere. A conversation might go like this:
· Person A: “I’ve been feeling really anxious lately.”
· Person B: “Cool, uh… have you tried… Pilates? Or maybe, like, some vodka?”
In some cases, well-meaning friends deploy the ultimate coping strategy: changing the subject to anything else. “I told my BFF I was having a panic attack as I gasped for air,” said 22-year-old Drusilla Nervosa. “She just shook her head and said, ‘That’s crazy—did you know Taylor Swift got engaged?’”
Though there has been some progress, the stigma persists. Even when employers proudly advertise “mental health awareness,” the reality can be different. Patty Panicbutton, an employee for Acme Moving Company, told her coworkers she was “having a rough week.” Within seconds, HR showed up and gave her a pamphlet titled 'Please Don’t Do This Here.'
Panicbutton says she’d like to remain optimistic, but she’s depressed about being depressed. “I feel let down by my employer,” she said. “At least I know how people will react. Next time, I’ll say my printer is jammed. People seem much more comfortable panicking about that.”
With mental health issues being a prevalent topic in the news, the Department of Health and Human Services recently announced a new plan to solve the crisis: advise all Americans to repress their feelings indefinitely and instead “smile ‘til you die.”
RFK Jr., the Secretary of Health and Human Services, said, “After an afternoon of research, I’ve determined the most effective treatment is never to admit you’re sad.” The controversial leather-faced conspiracy theorist told reporters, “If you feel depressed, simply tighten your jaw and say, ‘I’m good, thanks,’ until your skeleton collapses from natural causes. I find a tasty plate of roadkill always boosts my mood.”
This new plan, dubbed Operation Comfortably Numb, has had pilot programs in several states. Early reports suggest widespread compliance. In Atlanta, GA, 40-year-old Anna Ativan attempted to talk to a friend about her depression, only for a SWAT team to rappel through the Starbucks ceiling, shouting, “Back away from all the feelings!” The friend then suggested she try “a Venti Frappuccino or an essential oil diffuser.”
Tech companies are embracing the strategy. Google has given all employees a free sticker reading, “Mental Health: It’s a thing!” for their laptops. “We value employee well-being,” a spokesperson said moments before laying off 6,000 employees.
Critics of the plan fear it will backfire. “If people bottle up their emotions, eventually they’ll explode,” Dr. Lithium said. “RFK Jr. assures us this will only happen quietly, at home, right after getting the flu vaccine.”
As government crackdowns escalate, Americans desperate to discuss their mental health are reportedly going underground. They’re gathering in what are being called “mental speak-easies,” where patrons whisper about depression while lookouts scan for the panic police.
Sources report these gatherings take place in dimly lit basements behind unmarked doors, accessible only if you know the password—usually something like “Electroconvulsive therapy” or “Serotonin.” Individuals in these groups gather to confess things like, “Sometimes I feel overwhelmed with life,” while bartenders serve cocktails with names like The Xanax Mule and the Cognitive Behavioral Martini.
“We can’t talk about anxiety at work or in public anymore, so we meet here twice a week,” said local postal worker Leonard Lethargy. One club in the Bronx poses as a book club dedicated to the works of Sylvia Plath. Another in Jersey City hides under the guise of a “paint your own pottery shop,” where everyone picks out a bowl or mug and then cries into it.
While authorities warn of intensifying raids, the demand for mental health safe spaces is growing. “You can take away my COVID-19 vaccine, but you’ll never take away my right to cry in a hidden basement while strangers sip on Prozac Coladas,” an anonymous group leader said before being dragged away by undercover officers posing as emotional support dogs.
At press time, a new speak-easy was rumored to be opening in Washington, DC, with the password “My Daddy Never Hugged Me.”
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