I once saw a psychotic patient who refused to accept any interventions. He knew he needed help, but hated the stigma of antipsychotics and going to a psych ward.

“I don’t want to be a freak,” he would say. “Don’t put me in that place for freaks.”

The treating team had tried nearly everything they could – reassurance, lengthy explanations, even bribery, to no avail. The only option left, it seemed, was the mental health act, a legislation resulting in compulsory treatment. Voluntary treatment, however, was always preferred.

After a one hour interview, the psychiatrist took one last approach before giving up. He began telling stories of his own shortcomings, and revealed that he also had previous struggles with mental illness. The psychotic patient listened intently, and for a moment it felt that this shared experience silenced his hallucinations.

“I’m not perfect here, he’s not perfect here (gesturing to me) – we all have baggage we’re carrying,” the psychiatrist said. “Truth is, we’re all a bit mad and full of shit. But this treatment we’re offering will help you be just as bad as other people, not so bad that you risk harming yourself or others.”

He accepted the offer.

It seems in our most troubled and ashamed moments, there is respite in knowing that our brokenness is not unique to the world, but rather that we know ourselves too well. Seeing the limitations of others paves the way, perhaps ironically, for self-compression and respect.

From Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland:

“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.
“Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”
How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.
“You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”