In a shattering of both stigma and silence, Lil Nas X, the pop provocateur who made a career out of breaking the internet, has broken something else: the seal on his mental health. The rapper, fresh from a stint in rehab (the industry's version of a spa but with less cucumber water and more existential dread), announced he has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. This revelation was met with thunderous applause from British mental health charities, who clearly hadn't heard the news yet, but were happy to have something to endorse.
Listen. I've seen more coherent press releases from a malfunctioning vending machine, but this one hits different. Lil Nas X, a man who once wore a golden diaper and gave Satan a lap dance in a music video, has now done something truly revolutionary: he's admitted to being a mess. And not just any mess, a clinically diagnosable, manic-depressive, black-dog-chasing-him-through-the-BMW-showroom kind of mess. This is the man who danced with the devil in the pale moonlight of Twitter beefs and chart-topping hits. Now he's dancing with the reality that his brain chemistry is a bit of a rogue DJ, mixing happy hours with existential quietus.
The charities, of course, are ecstatic. They love a celebrity who opens up because it means they don't have to do their own fundraising. “We commend Lil Nas X for his courage in sharing his story,” said a spokesperson for Mind, presumably while frantically refreshing their donation page. Indeed, it's a brave new world where we applaud a man for revealing his medical history between dropping singles and suing his parents. But let's not be churlish. The old world was a place where we'd have called him 'mad' and locked him in an attic. Progress, even if it’s progress wrapped in a Gucci headband.
What makes this particularly British in its absurdity is the reaction of the tabloids. You can already hear the headlines screaming: “MONTERO MENTAL MELTDOWN” or “NAS-TY NERVES – STAR IN BIPOLAR BIZARRE-O”. They will simultaneously praise his honesty and dissect his breakdown. It's the British way: offer tea and sympathy, then turn to your neighbour and mutter, 'Bit odd, isn't he? I always suspected. Did you see that tweet from 2018?'
And yet, there is a sliver of genuine hope here. Bipolar disorder is a cruel jester that plays with fire in a house made of tinder. To see a young man, black and queer in a world that still treats both as liabilities, stand on the bonnet of his career and shout, 'I have this thing, and I'm still here,' is a defiance that deserves more than a tweet. It deserves a monument. Or at least a well-stocked bar, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.
I must confess, I've had my own battles with melancholy. I once spent three days in a Wetherspoons arguing with a pigeon about the epistemology of regret. The pigeon was non-committal. Mental health is a spectrum that stretches from 'fine' to 'I've covered my walls in tin foil and am now communicating with the Queen's corgis via Morse code.' We all fall somewhere on that line, and Lil Nas X just gave a shout to those at the latter end. Good for him.
But here's the kicker: this diagnosis will be used, as all things are, for profit. Expect a new line of merch: 'Bipolar and Proud' T-shirts, perhaps a candle that smells like lithium and lavender. The charities will run campaigns with his face, and the cynics will say he's just playing the game. To them, I say: even if he is, at least he's playing a game that might save a life. And in the modern whirlpool of narcissism and outrage, that's a win.
So here's to Lil Nas X, the man who made Satan a household name and now makes bipolar disorder a talking point. May his highs be productive, his lows be brief, and his gin be always chilled. Because if there's one thing we've learned from this saga, it's that a little madness is often the price of genius. And a lot of madness is just a Tuesday for the rest of us.
