Respect

People love mentally ill folks when they don’t know we’re mentally ill. When they think the quirks are charm, the humor is personality, the “different” is something interesting instead of something stigmatized. But the second the truth is shared—medication, diagnoses, history, healing—the entire tone shifts. Suddenly every emotion is a symptom, every reaction is an episode, every boundary is a disorder acting up. People stop listening to the person and start listening to the label. And it’s heartbreaking, because the same behaviors they once called “funny” or “unique” are now treated like red flags that need managing.

And the worst part? They weaponize the honesty they claim to want. If a mentally ill person is quiet, they’re “shutting down.” If they speak up, they’re “unstable.” If they’re tired, it’s “their condition.” If they’re happy, it’s “the meds.” Meanwhile people without diagnoses get to just… be human. They get to have bad days without being analyzed, good days without suspicion, boundaries without backlash. But mentally ill people? Their very humanity gets filtered through the assumption that everything they feel is pathology instead of experience.

This is the part that hurts the most: people think mental illness grants them permission. Permission to dismiss, to minimize, to explain away someone’s feelings. Permission to be cruel, condescending, or careless because “they’re sensitive.” But the moment a mentally ill person names harmful behavior, suddenly the conversation is no longer about the hurt—it’s about whether their reaction is “appropriate” for someone with their condition. It’s emotional gaslighting dressed up as concern.

Mental illness is not a free pass to treat someone like they’re fragile, irrational, or less deserving of respect. It’s not a shortcut to avoiding accountability. And it’s definitely not a loophole that lets people hurt someone and then blame the person they hurt for reacting. Humans are not diagnoses. They’re not symptoms in motion. They’re not walking warning labels.

What people don’t understand is that mentally ill people aren’t asking for special treatment—they’re asking to be treated like everyone else. To have their feelings taken seriously, not clinically. To have their boundaries seen as boundaries, not breakdowns. To be allowed the full spectrum of human emotion without it being turned into a case study. Honesty about mental health should build connection, not become ammunition.

If people could understand one thing, it’s this: mental illness does not make someone less human. But the way the world responds to it—carelessly, cruelly, or with quiet judgment—absolutely can. And that is why conversations like this one matter. Because respect shouldn’t depend on what someone is diagnosed with. And humanity shouldn’t be conditional.