CW: Suicide, Mental Health, & Death
Ever since I learned of RJ Mitte’s tragic suicide, I have been thinking about how cerebral palsy has affected my mental health. By age 20, I developed both depression and anxiety. I know firsthand how heavy those struggles can become while navigating life with a disability. With medication, family support, and counseling, I am doing much better today. But it was really difficult for me to work through those feelings. I felt like a failure.
Sometimes, I feel like I should apologize for existing. My friend James jokes that I should put change in a jar every time I apologize. He says it wouldn’t take long for the jar to be full.
I have apologized for the simplest things. Last year, my physical therapist asked why I had texted him to apologize for experiencing pain earlier that week. I didn’t have a good answer. Not one that made logical sense, anyway. He reminded me that pain is not something I need to feel bad about, and that he is here to help me.
That is one of the invisible parts of cerebral palsy. People can see the physical signs of my disability. They do not hear the internal voice asking whether I am inconveniencing someone or whether I should apologize one more time just to make sure they know I appreciate them.
Sometimes those feelings come from living in a world where needing accommodations can feel like asking for special treatment, even when those accommodations are what allow us to participate in the first place. Over time, it can become easy to confuse needing help with being a burden.
Cerebral palsy has made me hyper-aware of what I need. I notice when someone has to wait for me. I notice when pain changes what I can do that day. Even when nobody around me seems bothered, part of my brain keeps score.
That constant awareness can be exhausting. Living with cerebral palsy means my body reacts in ways I can’t always predict or control. My Moro reflex is especially frustrating. When it happens, it takes about a minute for my nervous system to calm down again. That minute feels long when I’m trying to stay focused and present. It’s like my body hits a panic button I never pressed.
There are physical realities of cerebral palsy that I cannot think my way out of. My body sometimes hurts. Some things take me longer. There are situations where I need help. None of those things is a personal failure, but knowing that does not automatically erase the guilt attached to them.
Since RJ Mitte’s death, I keep thinking about how much pain can exist beneath a life that other people see from the outside. It has forced me to sit with some of the hardest parts of my own experience with cerebral palsy, depression, and anxiety. I know what it is like to feel like a burden and to feel ashamed that I need help.
Maybe I will always have moments when that voice comes back, when I catch myself apologizing for the pain, the extra time, the accommodations, or simply needing someone. Needing help does not make me worthless. My disability does not require an apology, and neither does the fact that sometimes living with it is hard. I am allowed to take up space. I am allowed to need help. I am allowed to be here.
Source:
Hurtado, Yamillah, and Sean Mandell. “‘Breaking Bad’ Actor and Disability Activist RJ Mitte’s Death at 34 Confirmed as Suicide: Rep.” People, 12 Oct. 2026, https://people.com/breaking-bad-rj-mitte-cause-of-death-confirmed-suicide-rep-12171018.