Nothing About Bebe Rexha’s Music Video “I’m a Mess” is ok
You know what the worst part of being mentally ill is? The fact that your label immediately makes you misunderstood. When I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at 17 things changed for me. It wasn’t the act of being diagnosed — I had been struggling with symptoms since I was 15 and while they were awful, they were also familiar — what changed was how people saw me. I was an overachiever in high school — 4.0 GPA, student government secretary, involved in sports, etc. — but when my diagnosis became public knowledge the expectations around me suddenly changed. Soon the “which college are you going to” conversation became “will you ever be able to live on your own?” Because I was mentally ill I was viewed as being less than. I think in some ways the trauma of stigma impacted me more negatively than the illness itself.
Since becoming a freshly minted bipolar back in 2000 I’ve struggled with discrimination at work, finding comprehensive and compassionate mental health care, figuring out the right cocktail of meds to help me manage my illness, and I’ve been hospitalized several times. This may come as a shock to you, but none of this has been fun. Not even the slightest bit entertaining. Now I’m 33 and still mentally ill (because most mental illnesses are chronic conditions — that’s how they work) so I’m glad that Bebe Rexha has found a creative way to make mental illness much more relatable, realistic, and catchy. She’s done something incredible, unprecedented, ingenious — she wrote a crappy pop song and paired it with the most stigmatizing, ableist (ableism = disability oppression), and sanist (discrimination against people with mental illness) music video I’ve ever seen. Just have your back up dancers prance around in straight jackets. Apparently, that’s the key to pedaling your garbage music.
Here’s the truth — I heard this song while I was driving home after my therapy appointment and I was elated. A song marketed to a younger demographic that positively mentions therapy. As soon as I got home I looked for the video on Youtube because I wanted to play this for my students in class tomorrow. I teach a course on unpacking ableism at a local college and I thought this video would be a great way to rally my students on a cold, rainy Pittsburgh afternoon. Then I watched it. Ok, so I’ll still be able to share this with my students, but the conversation is going to be drastically different. Instead of praising the message we’re going to rip it to shreds.
This music video enrages me. It makes my blood boil. I’m literally sitting here fuming. Figuratively hot smoke is shooting out of my ears. This video makes a mockery of what it means to live with a mental illness. It erases the humanity of people who are often abused by modern psychiatry. It dismisses the experiences of people who have been committed against their will, silencing their voices with her manufactured singing voice. This video plays on so many destructive stereotypes and tropes. What it means to be “crazy,” conflating emotions and symptoms (loving someone and them not loving you back doesn’t make you crazy — but this is a common stereotype that we often attach to women which further fuels misogyny and sexism), what crazy “looks like” (straight jackets, buckles, and white restraints galore), and now the line that sinks my spirit: “That’s what my therapist say.” I thought it was an anthem of self love and self empowerment. I was so so so wrong.
As I sit on my couch surrounded by cozy blankets and three snoring dogs, a woman with a doctoral degree who is an established advocate and ally for her community, I think about who I was at 15. I was lonely. I was scared. I knew something was wrong but I didn’t have the language to ask for help. Everything I feared could easily be found in this music video. Is that how people would see me? Would they trivialize my pain? Would they laugh at me? Is the world ok with this portrayal of mental illness? Is this the set of expectations that would determine how my life shook out? Back then I felt so isolated. A video like this would have destroyed me. 15 year old me would see this and question her worth. If she was worth asking for help, going to therapy, living a life on her own terms — not a life dominated by illness.
This is not just irresponsible media, this inflicts serious damage. Narratives like this negatively contribute to our country’s conversations on stigma and violence, on suicide and access to care, on gun laws and mental illness. They perpetuate misinformation and reinforce discrimination. They give us a pass to back away from something we don’t understand and lean on prejudice instead. When it comes to dismantling stigma we have to listen and learn from those who are directly impacted by mental illness, not the disrespectful and marginalizing voice of a singer who probably didn’t think twice about the consequences of her actions.
I’m so fed up with how mental illness is depicted, treated, and talked about in this country. My heart breaks when I think about 15 year old me and more importantly, young people living with mental illness today who watch this video and see themselves. A lie that they are sold so Rexha and her team can cash in.
What more can I say? This is offensive as fuck and if you don’t understand why ask anyone who lives with mental illness. And actually listen before you defend this video. I wish Rexha did.
Dr. Rachel Kallem Whitman is an educator, advocate, and writer who has been shacking up with bipolar disorder since 2000. Rachel is an adjunct professor who teaches courses on unpacking ableism (disability oppression) and her speeches, interviews, and writings on the topic have garnered acclaim locally in her hometown of Pittsburgh, PA, across the United States, and internationally. Her debut book, “Instability in Six Colors,” paints a vivid picture of what it is like living with chronic mental illness, trauma, and a complicated relationship with sanity, safety, and suicide. Rachel’s mission and passion is to create a safe community to empower individuals to look beyond their illness to find themselves. You can buy this bipolar narrative through One Idea Press, a woman-owned independent press based out of Pittsburgh, PA, as a paper copy or ebook. For more of her work please be sure to check out Rachel’s website seebrightness.com and visit her Medium page.
