Christina Stiehl

In the wake of these tragedies, as the narrative shifts to mental illness, we are failing to confront the real problem: politicians and other high-profile figures frame mass killings as a mental health issue rather than a gun violence issue. But blaming shootings on mental illness has been a political talking point for decades, and mass shootings continue to happen.

When I was 14, I was diagnosed with depression. I had spent the entire school year feeling empty, like each day was a hopeless endeavor in a life that wasn't worth living. When I wasn't in school or at play practice, I was sleeping. Previously an honor student, I struggled to maintain Bs and Cs. I frequently contemplated suicide, envisioning the scenarios in which I could take my life while inflicting the least amount of trauma on my family.

As much as I encourage people to be as open as they want to be regarding their mental health, it is possible to have too much of a good thing. As more and more people come forward to reveal their struggles, it seems others are jumping on the bandwagon, borrowing jargon from the DSM-5 and co-opting the pain. Nothing is more fashionable right now than anxiety disorders.

When Logan Paul, a YouTube vlogger with more than 15 million subscribers, posted a video to his channel showing the body of a man who had died by suicide in Japan’s Aokigahara forest, the backlash was swift. Many outraged viewers accused the YouTube star of exploiting a dead body for shock, awe, and more video views.

For some drinkers, it’s almost as reliable as the pounding headache and queasy stomach: the feeling of dread that follows a night of heavy imbibing. Your mind races as you frantically scroll through your text messages and Instagrams, replaying what you can remember from the night before. Did I say anything embarrassing? Did I offend anyone? Do my friends hate me now?

When someone dies by suicide, people tend to respond with similar emotions: sadness, disappointment, confusion, despair. If that person is a criminal or has a history of morally questionable behavior, the response could be a little more conflicted.

What’s it called when you feel sad or hopeless for weeks, months, or even years? If you’re thinking depression, yes, that’s true. But it could also be persistent depressive disorder (PDD), also known as dysthymia.

When Kanye West called his bipolar disorder his "superpower," I could empathize. Sure, there are times when my bipolar disorder is crippling and makes me feel like a prisoner trapped inside my own brain. But once I hit a manic phase, it's euphoric: I am more productive than ever, feel like I can take on the world, and since I often struggle under a cloud of depression, it finally feels like happiness and relief.

Living with anxiety is like swimming in the ocean during a storm: it's a struggle to keep your head above water, and any minute, you could get swallowed up by a wave. Even when I feel calm, I'm always on edge worried about when the next surge of anxiety will hit or if a panic attack is around the corner. It's hard enough to deal with in my personal life, but when it comes to my professional life, it takes everything I have for it to not be all-consuming. I should preface this by saying that I h

"Maybe you're just feeling better," my psychiatrist said, "because something good has happened in your life." He was the only psychiatrist who was open on a Saturday and covered by my insurance plan, provided by a job I couldn't stand.

Bipolar disorder, also known as manic-depressive disorder, is characterized by changing moods of depression (feeling sad, "down," or hopeless) and mania (feeling extremely "up," elated, and energized), according to the National Institute of Mental Health. With bipolar II, the manic symptoms are less severe, known as hypomania, and aren't as extreme as the mania found in bipolar I.

I'm not usually outraged by things on the internet. But even I was taken aback when my sister forwarded me an email from a small online boutique called Simple Addiction, promoting a two-toned sweater the company marketed with the subject line “A schizophrenic tunic… what?!!”

Ecstasy is usually associated with fairy-winged ravers and thumping EDM -- not chaise lounges and psychiatrist offices. But the notorious party drug could make its way, legally, into the mental health world as a potent treatment for post-traumatic stress disorder.

It's a feeling we're all familiar with: you get butterflies in your stomach, your heart beats a mile a minute, your mind starts racing, and your knees go weak. Maybe you feel it before a big public speech or during a particularly turbulent flight. Now imagine that feeling all day, for no reason — that's what it's like to live with anxiety.