Is Kanye West a good spokesperson for bipolar disorder?
Like many with the same diagnosis, I was interested to hear Kanye West talking about his bipolar disorder with David Letterman. And I was heartened to find myself agreeing with a lot of what he said.
Celebrities have the privilege of a platform that us normal people don’t have. Their lives play out beneath the watchful scrutiny of the public eye, fair game for comment or judgement. Whether they stumble or succeed, we know about it. And when they speak up about their private lives, we pay attention.
We may not agree with what they have to say, but their opinions certainly get public airtime. And in my opinion, on this topic and occasion, Kanye broadly used his airtime well.
He highlighted the inhumanity of inpatient facilities — and called for change
He pointed out the cruelty of separating people from their loved ones during what could easily be the most distressing and disorientating experience of their lives. No other hospital patients experience the brute force and disempowerment of psychiatric patients. And if that was Kanye’s experience — presumably in the best private hospital around — we can assume it’s only downhill from there for everyone else.
Now I’m not saying that the staff working in inpatient environments aren’t caring and well-meaning. But from my experience, too, the hospitalisation process too easily (and somewhat ironically) disregards the patient’s emotional wellbeing, particularly when that hospitalisation is forced.
He also points out that when you’re in a manic episode, “what you say means less”. I’ve experienced this too — when I’ve been manic, both in and out of hospital my views have been completely disregarded, presumed invalid, “because you’re ill”. Even if someone isn’t fully mentally well, does that mean everything they say should be dismissed out of hand?
He came up with a metaphor that reduces stigma and softens the ‘sentence’ of diagnosis
He likened his illness to having a “sprained brain”, and went on to compare how we respond to that vs how we might treat someone with a sprained ankle:
“..if someone has a sprained ankle you’re not going to push on him more. With us, when someone has a brain on the point of spraining, people do everything they can to make it worse.”
For me, there are a few good things in here — firstly, his choice of “sprained”. The only metaphors doctors have ever given me have involved either broken limbs or chronic illnesses — “It’s like having a broken leg”, “It’s like being diabetic, you just have to take this pill every day.” There’s a finality about those metaphors that I find disheartening — it’s a lifetime sentence, when the evidence that this illness will stay with me forever is by no means rock solid. And I fundamentally disagree with giving people with mental ill health the message that they’re “broken”. I also appreciate him echoing his previous call for more gentle and humane treatment of people suffering mental ill health.
He makes space for positivity where typically there’s only negative
Now this is a difficult one, because of the suffering and disruption that people diagnosed bipolar have typically been through (myself included). But for me the words on the cover of his album Ye do ring true:
I hate being Bi-Polar //
It’s awesome
My manic episodes felt like some of the most creative, authentic, liberated and inspired periods of my life. Of course, Kanye is just the latest in a long line of celebrated cultural icons diagnosed bipolar — not a bad club to be part of. But most importantly, as someone who’s always been interested in the workings of the human mind, I feel privileged to have experienced the edge of consciousness, fallen over it, and found my way back. I don’t say this lightly, but I’m not sure I’d change it. Like Kanye, I do find it awe-inspiring, and I don’t see why there should be shame or regret in valuing in the experience. But it feels like that’s what the current paradigm expects. It’s nice to see that publicly challenged.
Having said that…
His experience overall is hugely unrepresentative — particularly his lack of depressive lows
During the Letterman interview, Kanye didn’t focus on any prolonged suffering he’s experienced due to his bipolar. Of course, one reason could be that he’s in the best possible financial situation to deal with it, with access to the best support — worlds away from the majority of people with the diagnosis. But having also been fortunate enough to afford better than average healthcare, and still suffered acutely, I’m not sure that’s it.
For me another reason stuck out much more starkly: he says he doesn’t suffer from depression. Only the highs, never the lows. Feeling elated, powerful and inspired vs feeling empty, impotent and worthless. Mania can feel and appear quite glamorous. No wonder he is comfortable celebrating his diagnosis and referring to it as a superpower.
Incidentally, I’m aware not everyone experiences mania in this positive way — though I did.
Over a period of 5 years, I cumulatively spent about 4 months manic, and about 15 months in a deep depression. Depression is horrendous, and there’s nothing powerful about it, except the inner power it takes to get over it. It’s only now I’ve been episode-free for almost 5 years that the pain of it all has receded enough for me to be able to acknowledge some of the positive experiences (the ‘awesomeness’) that this mental illness has given to me.
For that reason I don’t think we should be making Kanye West President of the Global Bipolar Society, if there was such a thing…
And from hearing him speak on Letterman, he may well not even want to be — after all, he took particular care to speak only for himself. He framed his answers through the lens of his own experience instead of talking in generalities, which I think was well-considered.
Celebrities have long-fascinated me as a cultural phenomenon that offer a window into our collective psyche. It’s good to see one challenging the boundaries of the world’s received understanding of bipolar disorder so publicly and confidently — spokesperson or not.
