One of my favorite hobbies is replacing one compulsive behavior with another.

I've cycled through counting calories, throwing up calories, and burning calories; all three of which demand exorbitant amounts of time and energy. Admittedly I moved pretty quickly through those first two; neither one lasted longer than about 6 months. But I'm really hung up on that last one.

My therapist says that it's better ("maybe even good!") to be addicted to "Healthy Things." But I'd rather not be addicted to anything at all, thank you very much. It's exhausting to consistently find myself restricted to some ludicrous schedule of running, when I don't have any obligation. I don't have a team, I'm not training for a race. I am just trying to lessen my psychological burden, the only way I know how. But this is not something I can just explain to any well meaning passerby. In fact, whenever I happen to mention my impressive weekly mileage, the response is always the same: "Holy crap! [or maybe something a bit more crass] I wish I had that self discipline!"

Trust me guys; if running 20 miles a week wasn't my only coping mechanism, I sure as hell wouldn't be out here pounding the pavement at 6am. But alas, such is life.

I'm not trying to complain about it.

I know on the grand scale of compulsions, this is child's play. There are people out there who'd love to feel compelled to run for a few hours instead of rip out their eyelashes. I won the lottery, really. I reached into the basket of idiosyncrasies and got mild bulimia and body dysmorphia. I can live with that. I am living with that. But it's still hard, sometimes. And what makes it harder is the fact that nobody ever talks about these things.

We have made mental health into a taboo.

We yoyo between satirizing our pain, and covering it up completely. Somewhere in history, it became socially unacceptable to discuss psychological health honestly .

There is a stigma around people with mental illnesses, as if we all feel embarrassed on their behalf. When celebrities admit they need help and check themselves into a facility, it becomes a major news event. Not because we collectively worry about them, but because it feels like they've broken some unspoken code. It's feels like they've committed some illicit deed, some seedy back-alley transaction, and we got to watch. We put them under a microscope, and are shocked to find cracks in their varnish.

In some ways, we do this to everyone.

We have so many expectations of each other; it's an uphill battle just to meet the requirements of Regular Personhood. The construct of masculinity is just one of many examples of how the hoops we jump through to achieve normalcy, are the same things that strangle us. In the wake of Kid Cudi's entrance into rehab, it fills me with hope to see discussions opening up about how hard it is to be a man with depression. A world of candor has appeared, and I want there to be more.

I want there to be small-scale sincerity. I want acceptance, I want community, I want everyone to feel safe talking about why it can be difficult to live their life. You don't need to be a card-carrying member of the mental illness club to have an open conversation about how it feels to be you.

I know it won't happen overnight. It's nearly impossible to make yourself so vulnerable to close friends, let alone anyone else. You don't want people to think you're crazy, or creepy, or attention seeking. You don't want to send up a flare in the dark that says, "HEY LOOK OVER HERE, I'M A BIG FREAKIN' WEIRDO!".

But what if, and humor me for a second, you did send up that flare. And in that big dark abyss, you saw another light go up. Then another. Then another. What if admitting you don't actually feel amazing all the time lets other people do the same. You open a dialogue. You create a world where you show your scars, and somebody else shows theirs.

What I'm saying is scary. It may be the hardest thing you ever do.

But what if you do it.

What if you send up that flare, and see a hundred others light up in the distance.

What if suddenly you realize you're not actually a big freakin' weirdo.

You're just another human being, trying to get by.