We need, ultimately, to be able to view mental health with the

Host: The rain whispered against the window of a small café on the edge of the city, where lamplight flickered like tired eyes fighting to stay awake. The air smelled faintly of coffee and wet concrete. Outside, cars hissed through puddles; inside, only two voices would rise to disturb the quiet — Jack and Jeeny, sitting across from each other at a corner table, a half-empty teapot between them.

Jack’s grey eyes stared into the steam as though trying to read something written there. Jeeny’s hands were folded, her fingers trembling ever so slightly, like a violin string still echoing a note after the bow has gone.

Jeeny: “Matt Haig once said, ‘We need, ultimately, to be able to view mental health with the same clear-headedness we show when talking about physical health.’ Do you believe that, Jack?”

Jack: low voice “I believe it’s a nice sentiment, Jeeny. But people don’t live in sentiments. We’re wired to fear what we can’t see. You break a bone, and there’s an X-ray. You break a mind, and all you get are words — fragile, subjective, invisible.”

Host: The light from the street fractured across the window, cutting through the steam like shards of silver. A clock ticked somewhere behind the counter. Jeeny’s eyes softened, but her jaw tightened.

Jeeny: “Invisible doesn’t mean unreal, Jack. You can’t see gravity, either, yet it holds you every second of your life. The mind isn’t fragile — it’s sacred. When someone’s fighting anxiety or depression, they’re not weak. They’re surviving a storm that no one else can feel.”

Jack: “And yet the world doesn’t stop for their storms. Employers still need work done, families still need food. You can’t legislate empathy. If we start treating mental health exactly like physical health, people will start hiding behind it — using it as an excuse. That’s the danger.”

Jeeny: “An excuse?” her voice trembles but hardens “Tell that to the soldiers who came home from war only to fight another war inside their own heads. Tell it to the students who jump from bridges because they couldn’t say they were in pain. Would you call that an excuse too?”

Host: The air between them thickened, like fog trapped inside a glass. Jack shifted, his fingers tapping lightly on the table, the rhythm uneven, betraying a tension he couldn’t name.

Jack: “No, I wouldn’t call that an excuse. But I’d call it imbalance. Society has to function. We can’t all stop to analyze our emotions every time life stings. The reason physical health gets attention is because it’s measurable, treatable, and — above all — visible. We can’t heal what we can’t quantify.”

Jeeny: “But the measure of humanity isn’t in what we can count, Jack. It’s in what we choose to care for, even when it’s unseen. You want to talk about quantifiable? Every year, over 700,000 people die by suicide. Isn’t that enough of a measurement for you?”

Host: Her voice echoed briefly through the room, mingling with the hum of the espresso machine. A couple at another table turned, then quickly looked away. Jack’s eyes flickered, the way a flame does before the wind finds it.

Jack: “You think I don’t care, Jeeny? You think I haven’t seen it? My brother spent two years locked in his apartment, curtains closed, barely speaking. I brought him food. I listened. But there’s a point where listening turns to drowning. You can’t save someone who’s determined to sink.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe he didn’t need saving, Jack. Maybe he needed understanding. Maybe he needed the world — and you — to treat his suffering like an illness, not a flaw.”

Host: The rain outside grew heavier, the windows trembling softly as if the night itself were crying. Jack’s face hardened, but there was a faint tremor in his voice now — a ghost of sorrow rising through the gravel of his tone.

Jack: “Understanding doesn’t pay the bills. It doesn’t rebuild what depression destroys. I’m saying — be realistic. Mental health awareness sounds noble, but unless we learn to treat it with structure — like physical medicine — it’s just talk. Sympathy without systems.”

Jeeny: “That’s exactly what the quote means — to treat it with structure. To look at it with the same clarity, not pity. When you break your leg, you don’t say, ‘I’m weak for needing a doctor.’ But when you break your mind, people still whisper, still look away. You call that clear-headedness?”

Jack: “I call it human discomfort. We fear what threatens our illusion of control. Physical pain, we can fix. Emotional pain — that’s chaos. And no one likes to stare too long into chaos.”

Jeeny: “But that’s the tragedy, Jack. By refusing to look, we let it consume us. Do you remember when Princess Diana spoke openly about her struggles with bulimia and depression? People called her dramatic. Years later, they called her brave. Society evolves — but only when someone dares to speak first.”

Host: Lightning split the sky, followed by the deep, distant rumble of thunder. The light briefly illuminated Jack’s face, casting his eyes into sharp relief — grey steel softened by a glimmer of pain.

Jack: “You talk like everyone’s capable of that kind of honesty. Most people can’t even admit they’re sad, let alone that they need help. And maybe they shouldn’t have to — maybe the world’s too brutal for that kind of openness.”

Jeeny: “And yet, silence kills more quietly than any gun. You think stoicism is strength? Sometimes, strength is saying, ‘I’m not okay.’ The body and the mind aren’t two separate continents, Jack. They’re one landscape. When the mind cracks, the body trembles too.”

Jack: leans back, sighing “Maybe. But you can’t deny the difference. If someone has cancer, they get treatment. If someone has depression, they get advice. That’s not equality — that’s confusion. We’ve medicalized sadness. Not every broken heart is a disorder.”

Jeeny: “No — but every disorder starts with a broken heart ignored. You draw lines to keep things neat, but life isn’t neat. It’s raw. It’s messy. It’s human.”

Host: A brief silence fell between them — the kind that feels like a held breath before a confession. The rain slowed, the drizzle now more like a quiet apology falling from the clouds.

Jeeny’s eyes glistened, reflecting the streetlight outside, and for a moment, she looked like she might cry. Jack noticed, and his expression softened, almost imperceptibly.

Jack: “You really believe we can change it? That one day people will talk about depression the way they talk about diabetes?”

Jeeny: “I believe we have to. Because until then, millions will suffer in silence. Until then, people will keep pretending that a broken mind is shameful. But it’s not. It’s simply human.”

Host: Jack looked down at his hands, the knuckles pale, the faint tremor of memory running through them. The rainlight flickered across his face, making him seem both older and younger all at once.

Jack: “You know... when my brother finally got help, it wasn’t because I pushed him. It was because a doctor — a stranger — looked him in the eye and said, ‘Your pain is valid.’ I’d never said that. I didn’t know how.”

Jeeny: “That’s the clear-headedness, Jack. Not just science — compassion combined with truth. Seeing the mind as part of the body, not beneath it.”

Jack: quietly “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s not about visibility after all, but about courage. The courage to believe the invisible is worth healing.”

Host: The rain ceased. The sky beyond the window began to clear, leaving streaks of silver light among the clouds. A single ray touched the table between them, catching the steam rising from their cups like souls exhaling.

Jeeny reached across, her hand resting on his.

Jeeny: “We don’t need perfect clarity, Jack. Just enough light to see each other honestly.”

Jack: “And enough honesty to start treating the unseen as real.”