dear dr. khalid, mom, dad and whomever else has concerns in regard to my mental health,

I write this from a mental hospital. That should tell you something.

But it should tell you what exactly? It could be that I’m a doctor here. I could be a nurse. I could be a patient. I could be an aggressive, severe schizophrenic.

I could be a young man in the wrong place.

But no, for now, all I’ll tell you is that I write from a mental hospital.

Therefore, all you really need to know for sure is that I am a writer.

Don’t forget this. It will be important later.

An observation, first.

This place does not improve mental health. It destroys it.

I’ve seen many a few patients cycle in and out of this modest, three-hallwayed haven.

I’ve seen people wander in

shoved into diagnoses like boxes

given medications like there’s no tomorrow

sunlight and fresh air replaced with sugary foods

exercise replaced with movies and mindless

solitaire.

This place was not made for us.

It was made for you.

It was made for people that someone, long ago, decided should not qualify as people.

It was made to teach adults, living, breathing, thinking, loving adults how to behave as if they were someone else, someone you all decide is better than whoever you most recently decided its most appropriate for us to be.

Most people come here over and over again.

And we pretend this

treatment

is working.

Now, don’t get me wrong.

I am no stranger to mental illness. I’ve lost count of how many therapists, psychiatrists, diagnoses, and medications I’ve been faced with.

Well, no I haven’t. 10, 23, 6, 5.

So why am I here?

Why is someone living a perfectly good life

a life full of love

a life full of adventure

a life full of risks, because they are worth taking

a life that feeds the brain, mind, body and soul

a life full of adequate sleep

of mindful nutrition

of countless meaningful relationships

of meaningful, rewarding and high quality work in and out of school

how,

How I ask

does someone like that end up in a place like this?

Because he chooses to, of course.

I started this journey with one goal in mind.

To prove you wrong.

To prove once and for all that the progress I am making is

legitimate

valid

meaningful

important

and real.

Maybe I’m manic. Maybe that’s the box I fit into (funny, because ‘selves’ don’t fit into boxes at all)

Maybe I’m crazy.

Or maybe I’ve cracked the code.

Maybe I figured out how to exceed in school, to exceed in relationships, to find time to do and accomplish everything I’ve ever wanted to while eating three meals a day and getting adequate sleep at night.

Forget the resentful friend.

Forget the petrified parents.

Forget the psychiatrist desperate to prescribe medication.

Forget me.

What are we left with?

Have you asked what Mason’s life looked like before this place? Have you?

And, even if you have, have you done so objectively? Or have you,

like so many others

chased a diagnosis to give you some peace you’ll never find?

One thing we know. More therapy, more treatment, more pills do nothing when the treatment plan is broken.

I have the solution.

I am the solution.

The musical RENT has the solution. Measure a life in love.

Measure a life in love.

Love. Not diagnoses. Not doctors. Not checklists of symptoms. Measure a life in love.

You’ll find my life is full of the stuff.

I, before this place met some 20-30 new people every day. I looked them in the eye. I learned their names. I gave them a genuine compliment.

I agreed to meals with anyone that offered.

I introduced now romantic partners, the cosmic matchmaker, I was called.

I created random groups of people, I forced them to interact with one another.

I started friendships that will last for life.

I bought coffee for the masses.

I made friends and strangers alike cry with the poems I wrote on love.

I fed and chatted with the homeless daily.

I helped prospective college students on their journeys to get into their dream school.

I became the most loving

the most kind

the most generous

even the most tan

that I have ever been in my life.

And that, that is where the real magic is.

Every day, I experienced the kind of love that some may experience a few times in a lifetime, the kind that softens you, the kind that empties your tear ducts and refills them with light.

And, while I did that, I lived the healthiest lifestyle I ever have, improved my performance in school, and wrote hundreds

yes hundreds

of poems, letters and other collected works.

The secret? Love. And a lot of it.

Oh, also I have extracurriculars and I operate my own small business.

I’m proud to say the list of ways that I am remarkable continues to grow.

The hardest part of this whole journey was coming here.

This week, I learned how to love in a place where love is rare, and I thank my lucky stars

every night

for that opportunity.

Meet Denise, the crabbiest woman you’ve ever met with a heart bigger than her face and a sense of humor to die for.

Meet Gabriel, the purest, kindest, sweetest kid you’ll ever meet who doesn’t deserve what the world has given him.

Meet Azalea, and I mean this one so deeply I will scream, who is the most compassionate person I have ever met.

Meet Destiny, who seems more than any of us do and knows how to stand up for and to the people she loves most.

Meet Deven, who came into this facility bright, intelligent, and full of life and who will leave full of medications that damper his person.

Meet Joe, the most sincere man on the planet, who gives advice and spreads loves effortlessly and completely.

Meet Marion, my fairy godmother, who loves the world, gives perfect advice, and somehow, despite everything the world has handed her, still believes in love.

Meet Bre, Victoria, Holly, Keith, Jessica, the list is infinite. Nurses that care, deeply, and do everything they can on God’s green Earth to help us heal because they care.

By the way, Bre, you would make the world’s best mother.

In writing all of this, in forcing you to listen (and I am sorry it’s taken so long) I want to emphasize these few things.

First, I am healthy. I am joyful. And my life is full of the one that I need to stay that way: people I love and people who love me.

Second, we spend too much time on medications and diagnoses and too little time on teaching people how to love others, but more importantly, how to love themselves.

Third, these patients, these addicts, these schizophrenics are people. We are all just people. I hope, after this letter, each of you will see the beautiful, loving people on the other side of this door not as patients

not as addicts

not as schizophrenics

but as equals.

Let me reiterate this one last time.

Love is the answer.

It’s time we start acting like it.