To Kanye West:
Let me start with a deep breath. We’ve been waiting for this moment for a while now. Ye would like to be welcomed back to the Good Place.
But let me pump the brakes before I invite you back in with open arms. The full-page apology you recently took out in The Wall Street Journal is a start. At 750 words, it reads like a thoroughly thought-out, authentic message, one that begs for forgiveness and asks us to one day find it in our hearts to forget. The only problem, Ye, is that it’s not that simple.
While empathy around mental illness should be a norm, your ask for forgiveness is not enough; words have to be paired with actions. Your future actions have a long way to go before they outweigh your past.
For years — not months — years, you have spread hate across the globe. Since 2022 alone, you’ve inundated us with antisemitic statements, offensive comments, and hostile energy that has spilled over in ugly ways. You’ve invited infamy, openly associated with scummy shitheads, and allowed your brand to become synonymous with hate.
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“I lost touch with reality,” you wrote in your letter that outlined your experience with bipolar type 1. “Things got worse the longer I ignored the problem. I said and did things I deeply regret.” Now, you’ve come to your senses and you want us all to meet you where you’ve finally arrived, at the intersection of repentance and mental stability.
Your apology ad is a good place to begin. However, you revealed your diagnosis in 2018, after alluding to it in 2016. For the better part of a decade, you’ve been floundering in the public, refusing to take your mental health seriously.
I know this because I myself was diagnosed with bipolar type 1 in 2016, and I’ve been paying closer attention to you than most. I deeply understand the confusion that comes with the symptoms of the disorder. I’ve written about my own episodes, interviewed other people who live with bipolar, made over 100 explainer videos on TikTok, and spoken with folks who have earned a PhD in understanding mania and meaning.
In your letter, you say, “I have found comfort in reddit forums of all places.” You should think a bit wider than reddit. It’s a helpful resource for experiential anecdotes, but the internet is a big place.
As you accurately pointed out, the World Health Organization projects that people with bipolar disorder have a life expectancy that is shortened by 13 years when compared to the general population. This statistic has haunted me since I first learned about it, and I’m glad you’re finally sharing real, impactful information with your audience. This is the kind of move you should be making as a famous person with a shunned disorder.
You specifically name denial as bipolar disorder’s defense system in your letter. “When you’re manic, you don’t think you’re sick,” you wrote. “You think everyone else is overreacting. You feel like you’re seeing the world more clearly than ever, when in reality you’re losing your grip entirely.”
I can relate on a level that most cannot. After 10 years of living with bipolar type 1, I’ve learned that nobody can make you get help. You have to want it for yourself. If you’re not ready to accept that, you will run yourself into the ground until there’s almost nothing left.
You’ve done this already (remember your 2020 Presidential platform?) but it seems like you’ve finally arrived at the point of acknowledging and accepting that you need help. “As I find my new baseline and new center through an effective regime of medication, therapy, exercise, and clean living, I have newfound, much-needed clarity,” you shared.
It’s not a fun feeling to come out of an episode and realize that you’ve destroyed your life’s work. It’s even more unimaginable to be the most-talked about celebrity writ large, and be in the throes of mania.
“The scariest thing about this disorder is how persuasive it is when it tells you: You don’t need help. It makes you blind, but convinced you have insight. You feel powerful, certain, unstoppable.”
