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Rain was pattering on the windows of the cottage. It was a quiet, relaxing summer night, candles were lit throughout the living room, Anya slept quietly, smashed in between her human parents, and Ilya Rozanov was wrapped in a knit blanket, his husband’s fingers twined with his own as they watched a hockey documentary from the nineties together. Shane was mindlessly scrolling on his phone, attention split between scrolling and watching the documentary they had seen a hundred times now.
Ilya was more focused the way Shane’s cold feet were tucked against his hip, how Anya’s head was resting on his thigh. The soft pitter patter of the rain and the smell of tobacco and leather that permeated the room. It was one of the only candle scents that Shane could handle without his senses being completely overwhelmed. The quiet nights like these were his favorite. No need for words, no need for sex, no need for mental strain. It was just a quiet night with the two beings he loved most in the world in a total and complete sense of peace surrounding him.
Until that peace was broken of course.
Shane shot up from his relaxed position laid up on the couch, startling Anya who jumped from the couch in a huff.
“Holy fuck,” he exclaimed, running fingers through his hair.
“What is it moy lyubov?” Ilya asked, brows furrowing as he paused their documentary and leaned forward.
“Ilya, you’ve been nominated for the Champion of Mental Health Award,” Shane exclaimed and Ilya frowned.
“What is that?” He asked, cocking his head to the side as Shane’s eyes quickly moved back and forth as he read the article.
“They’re like a national awareness campaign. Their website says they recognize exceptional thought-leaders who have made outstanding contributions to the field of mental health and substance use health in Canada,” Shane exclaimed and Ilya’s frown deepened.
That didn’t feel… right.
He was nothing exceptional. Hell, he was just the co-founder of the Irina Foundation. He was no thought-leader or someone who madeoutstanding contributions. He ran hockey camps and donated the money to suicide prevention non-profits. They were the ones who were doing the real work, not Ilya.
“You’re going to get an award in a few weeks! Ilya this is amazing!” Shane exclaimed, moving over to give his husband a tight hug.
“Yes, is very sweet,” Ilya said, swallowing over the lump in his throat.
Shane pulled back and looked at him for a moment. His eyes dimmed and his smile slowly fell away.
“What’s wrong?” He asked quietly, moving onto he was straddling Ilya’s lap, blanket now wrapped around both of them. His fingers were running through Ilya’s blond curls as he looked him over. “You don’t seem very excited.”
“Is nice,” Ilya admitted quietly. “I just—I do not know if I deserve this.”
Shane let out a soft hum. “Can you explain this to me?”
Ilya blew out a huff of air and tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling. He had so many thoughts twisting in his brain and he wasn’t sure how to explain everything. He still wasn’t even sure if he knew why he was feeling the way he did. He just knew he felt like a fraud, an imposter. He was no mental health champion.
“I do not know if I want to be known as the mental health guy,” Ilya said slowly. He rested his hands on Shane’s hips as he chewed on his bottom lip.
“Baby, no offense, but you’ve kinda been the “mental health guy” for a few years now.”
Which was true. It had been five years since Ilya and Shane had started the foundation and Shane did a lot of the behind the scenes work. Something about not feeling comfortable talking about suicide prevention when Ilya was more closely affected by it. He spoke about his own anxiety at times but he hated public speaking and Ilya in Shane’s opinion, was much better at it. Not that Ilya believed him, not when his accent was still so thick—especially when he was emotional or when he stumbled over his English. But Shane and Yuna both insisted that it make more sense for Ilya to be the face of the foundation. It was named after his mother afterall.
So, he went and gave speeches about mental health, he spoke about his own experiences. He shared stories of growing up in Russia where mental health wasn’t taken seriously, how it killed his mother and nearly killed him. Even the NHL had him show up for mental health campaigns. While Shane did his brand deals with different clothing and jewelry brands, Ilya did deals with brands that focused on mental health in some way.
He had done a partnership with Lush, Maybelline, hell he was now the face of both Bombas and Better Help. Far different than what Shane was involved in.
“I know,” Ilya said with a sigh. “It just—it feels like I am lying. I am not great at managing my own mental health. I just had to increase my Lexapro and my Welbutrin last week. I have been in therapy for three years now and I still see Galina every week. I am not the-the face of mental health,” Ilya finally said. “I am still ah passively suicidal and I am not always okay.”
“I think that’s why it’s important, Baby,” Shane said, giving him a soft smile as he continued playing with Ilya’s curls. Shane knew that he was still passively suicidal, knew that it was nothing because of him but simply because there had not been a time in Ilya’s life where he wasn’t passively suicidal and he had not gotten to a point where he was past that yet. He was unsure when he would ever get past it. According to Galina he had made amazing progress. “You understand better than anyone how important mental health advocacy is. You have done amazing work, you talk about how mental health has affected your life, about abuse you’ve experienced, hell, you’ve even talked about your promiscuous days as a coping mechanism to get people to stop calling you a slut.”
“Promiscuous?” Ilya asked, reciting the word slowly.
“Eh you know, slutty,” Shane said. “You had a bunch of meaningless sex.”
“Ah, yes. Was good escape, you do not let me do this,” Ilya said with a small, tentative smile. No, Shane didn’t let him use sex as an escape. Any time he noticed Ilya was doing so, he made him go through the actual coping mechanisms he had come up with in therapy and made him talk about what was going on in his brain.
“No, no I don’t,” Shane said and gave him a soft kiss. “So you are definitely the mental health guy, that ship sailed a long time ago, baby.”
Ilya chewed on his lip. “I sometimes feel like is not meaningful because we made foundation as cover,” Ilya said slowly. “We made foundation to use as excuse to get closer—”
“No, absolutely not. That was part of the reason but not the only reason. We also did it because it is meaningful work. You adore your mother and I adore you and I want us to be a part of something that makes life easier for others. It doesn’t matter why or how we started the foundation. What matters is that we are doing the thing and we are have done amazing work and have raised millions and millions of dollars to organizations all across the continent. I mean the people at the Trevor Project are obsessed with you.”
“Da, yes, I know. The CEO told me she wants to put me in her pocket,” Ilya said with a soft smile.
“Me too,” Shane said and leaned back. He looked Ilya over with a sharp eye. “You still have this look like you think you don't deserve this. Baby, what else is going on in your brain?”
Ilya heaved out a sigh. This was it, the one that made him nervous saying out loud, a thought that had bothered him for years. He was the mental health guy, yes, but he rarely spoke about his mother anymore. People did not like to ask about her or what happened to her, or even the things that led to her death or how her father reacted to it afterwards. They wanted to focus more on the way Ilya was surviving and his “battle” with bipolar II.
“Sometimes I do not think these places actually care about mentally ill people,” Ilya said slowly, his words careful and measured. “I think they just care about people who they think represent hope, or ah recovery. But is more than that isn’t it? Is tricky because I cannot talk about my mother without ah what is romantizirovat'?”
“Romanticize?” Shane asked, brow furrowed.
“Da,” Ilya said, nodding his head. “My mother was not weak, she did not lose battle or whatever people call it. I do not know. There are dirty sides of mental health and I understand that it is important to talk about hope and that we will all recover. But—but Shane I can have an amazing day, a perfect day and I can still think about how if I was hit by a car I would be okay with dying. Or how when I am on the top floor of building, I briefly think of jumping. I do not want to die, I don’t. But thought is always there. I am always thinking about dying but no one wants to hear that. They want to hear good parts, about therapy and support groups and—and self care! But some days my mind is evil and I sleep on couch all day or I do not eat because I can’t get up. No one talks about bad parts and I am not good mental health guy because I don’t talk about bad parts.”
Shane nodded and looked at Ilya contemplatively.
“Why don’t you?” Shane asked. “Talk about it, tell people about the hard, bad parts of mental health. You can do that, you know.”
“I can? I am supposed to be hopeful,” Ilya said, his brow furrowed. How was he supposed to represent hope if he was telling people about the bad parts.
“You can still be that, but you can also talk about your mother. She was not weak, she did not lose some battle or whatever people say. We can talk about how Irina took her own life and we can validate the suffering she went through without making it seem like what she did was heroic or only logical.”
Shane was in thinking mode now. Ilya could all but see the gears in his head moving in overtime.
“Something like she was in agonizing pain and could not see a way out. It isn’t about losing a battle or saying committed like it was a crime. But it is acknowledging that she killed herself and that she was in pain.”
Shane was now twisting Ilya’s hair in between his fingers, his thigh bouncing atop of Ilya’s as he thought.
“Talk about how death was only a chapter of her story. We can talk more about who she was, what she loved, and your memories of her. What made her laugh, or what impact did she have on you? You can even say that her death impacted you to the point that you know you wouldn’t kill yourself because you know how her death impacted you.”
“Galina says that it is normal to have mixed feelings. To be angry or sad about what Mama did, and that grief is messy and I do not have to pretend she was perfect. I want to talk about that, too. Mama was not perfect, she was not always good at being a mother either. But I still miss her and I want to talk about her and why suicide is not good but without blaming her for leaving me.”
Shane had that sad smile on his face again. His brow was furrowed ever so slightly and he looked like he wanted to crawl inside of Ilya’s skin and if he was being honest, Ilya wanted that. He felt so raw and scared, talking about the things that had bothered him so much.
“You have to write a speech when accepting your award,” Shane finally said quietly. “How about we write a speech with all of that in there? The good, the bad, and the ugly.”
“What is good?” Ilya asked, squeezing Shane’s hips, needing something grounding.
“That there are resources, that your medication helps, that you have a support group. Those are good parts. It’s important to remember that we’re here because we are a part of those resources now, we give money to them and our camps help too,” Shane said quietly.
Ilya tilted his head back and closed his eyes tight. “Fuck, I need a cigarette,” he groaned.
Shane let out a soft laugh and pressed his forehead against Ilya’s shoulder. “You can have one,” he said, nipping Ilya’s neck. “Because you’ve been very brave talking about this.”
He let out a soft laugh and wrapped his arms around Shane’s waist, hugging him tight to his chest.
“I am not breaking six month streak. I am quitting for real this time,” Ilya said. “I need nicotine gum.”
Shane snorted and leaned over, grabbing Ilya’s pack of gum from the table and popped a piece in Ilya’s mouth.
“I love you, Ilya Rozanov-Hollander,” Shane whispered.
“I love you too, Shane Rozanov-Hollander,” Ilya said with a small smile before he blew a bubble with his gum, making Shane break down into giggles.
“You deserve this award. More than anyone, don’t forget that,” Shane told him. Ilya nodded once, not feeling confident to agree or say anything aloud. He would just force himself to believe Shane until he fully believed it himself.
It was now the day of the awards ceremony and Ilya had written his speech with the help of both Galina and Shane. He was nervous, beyond nervous really. But he was going to do this, he was going to be candid about his speech and his mental health journey.
If he was going to be awarded for being a mental health advocate, he was going to talk about the bad parts of it. He had an obligation to talk about the bad parts.
“You’re going to do great. Mom and I read over your speech over and over. I put phonetic spelling for any words you might not recognize—”
“I know, I have practice this speech millions of times now,” Ilya said, rolling his eyes. “My English is almost perfect when I read it.”
Shane grinned and stood on his toes, giving Ilya a soft kiss. He pulled away and fixed Ilya’s tie carefully straightening it.
“Remember, you deserve this award. You do so much to advocate for mental health and I just know that Irina would be proud of you,” Shane said quietly. Ilya sniffed and nodded his head. He was not going to cry before his speech.
“And today, our recipient for the Champion of Mental Health Award is Ottawa Centaurs Captain and Co-Founder of the Irina Foundation, Ilya Rozanov!” The emcee exclaimed. Shane gave him a slap on the ass and Ilya stumbled out on the stage to the large conference room of mental health advocates, journalists, and others who were receiving awards. He also quickly found Yuna and David, Sveta and Troy and Harris, all sitting in the crowd clapping for him.
Ilya swallowed hard and crossed the stage, quickly shaking the presenter’s hand, taking the award and posing for a few photos before he stood behind the podium and stared out at the crowd of people.
He would rather to a press scrum after a game over this any day.
“I was told I have to give speech. I apologize in advance if my English is not good,” Ilya said with a soft smile as he unfolded his speech and let out a shaky breath. “When my husband, Shane, told me that I won this award I was shocked. I did not believe I deserved award, I felt like imposter. Not because I do not advocate for mental health, but because I do not always feel that I am accurately portraying what it is like to have a mental illness.”
Ilya released a breath and looked out over the crowd, his eyes met Svetlana’s and his heart stopped racing as much as it had been. His best friend in the entire world was here, someone who had experienced life with Ilya from the time that they were in diapers to now. The person he had gone to when his mama died and the person who had always been there for him.
“If you do not know, I was diagnosed with Bipolar II, two and half years ago. It is not easy, my depression gets bad and I have what is called passive suicidal tendancies and I do not talk about this often.”
This was the part Ilya was worried about. He was going to talk about the hard parts of mental health and advocacy. The parts that were not always talked about, the parts that mattered most to Ilya.
“Most times, when we discuss mental health, we focus on inspiration. Recovery stories, resiliency, hope. These stories matter, they are important. But they are not the whole truth. Mental Illness is not always inspiring, especially when you are the one who is living through it, or you are watching someone that you love live through it.” Ilya loosened a breath and he looked over the crowd, trying to even his breathing as best as he could.
He looked to the side of the stage where Shane was standing. He had a wide smile on his face, ever the most supportive person in Ilya’s life. The one who had seen the very worst of Ilya and still loved him. Who saw the bad days and helped Ilya through them without so much as blinking an eye. The love Shane had for him was beyond unconditional, it was irrevecoble. Sometimes Ilya wanted to drown in it.
Ilya tore his eyes from Shane and looked down at his speech again.
“It is exhausting. It is days where you have had the most perfect day, you could be winning Stanley Cup and still think about how if you died that night you would not mind. Sometimes it makes easy things feel impossible.” Ilya swallowed hard before he continued. Remembering the times before he had started therapy, when he had been so alone in Ottawa and had not known what to do about it. “Sometimes it makes you feel alone and you force yourself to be alone because you do not want to be burden. We talk about hope but we do not talk honestly about the suffering that goes with it. Because of this, we create a version of mental health that is easier for people who do not understand to listen to; but harder for the people who are struggling.”
Ilya remembered the misconceptions he had about therapy. How he felt like no one could ever understand his pain, how they would never be able to see how badly Ilya was hurting. How utterly alone he felt as he drowned in the sea that was his depression. How his hypomania resulted in his having senseless sex and buying fast cars. How his depression left him feeling as though he was walking through jello. Mental illness was ugly sometimes and staying strong was so beyond difficult sometimes.
“Being advocate for mental health is not just telling depressed people to stay strong. It is making space for uncomfortable-ness. It is seeing that sometimes survival is not inspirational. Being an advocate matters because people need understanding and that support does not disappear when recovery is slow or messy.”
He could feel the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as he stared at the next part of his speech. After all these years it was still so hard to talk about. It was hard but it was so completely important that he needed to talk about it. He needed people to know, it was this desperate ache within him that screamed that he needed to share this story.
Ilya let out a shaky breath and continued, ignoring the burning pressure in his eyes.
“My mother took her life when I was twelve years old. Many people know this now. Especially considering that the foundation I run with my husband is named after her. But my mother was more than her suicide, she was full of laughter and she was a talented figure skater. She made me medovik and blini when I was sad. She hated borscht and hated snow despite living in Russia. She was strong and brave and she was someone who made me believe in myself every day. She taught me how to skate.” Ilya started tapping his fingers against his thigh. He should have taken Shane up on his offer to give him a fidget toy but he had been worried he wouldn’t be taken seriously if he was fidgetting during his speech. “But she also suffered alone because she had no one to talk to. She was carrying the weight of her depression every day of her life. She was navigating through life not fully living but surviving because it was the most she could do. My mother endured for a very long time until she didn’t.”
“She was not weak. She did not lose some battle. She did not have anyone in her life who advocated for her. She did not have support or love from anyone but her son. She was alone and dealing with invisible disease and it is important to talk about it. Because I do not want anyone to ever feel like my mother did. I do not want anyone to feel alone, or unseen, or feel like there are not resources to help.
But I also do not want people to think that they have to be strong every single day. They do not need to try to be anything that they are not. They just need to be loved and to know that they are loved. Mental health advocacy becomes shallow when it only celebrates recovery, resilience, and hope, but is avoiding the reality that mental illness can be exhausting, isolating, humiliating, and ongoing.”
Ilya looked at the crowd. Meeting eyes with multiple people. His speech felt long, he knew it was wordy and maybe too much. But there was so much he needed to get out. So much he desperately needed to talk about and make sure that people listened. If he was going to be known as “mental health guy” he was going to go all the way. He was going to be the loudest mental health guy there ever was.
He stared at his best friends, Troy giving him a teasing grin as Harris had his hands clasped to hsis chest. The glimmering pride in Svetlana’s eyes and the wide smile tugging at the edges of her lips as she held tight hands with Yuna who was openly crying. David was looking at him like a proud father, nodding his head and quoting the speech word for word with him. He had been Ilya’s captive audience many times in the days leading up to now.
Ilya chewed his lip for a moment before he continued on the last part of his speech.
“Mental health advocacy should not require people to turn pain into success story before they are treated with compassion. People deserve dignity not just when healing but when they are struggling too. If we want honest conversations about mental health, we have to talk about the difficult parts too. Not to spread hopelessness, but to make sure that no one feels invisible in their suffering.” Ilya gave everyone a small smile as he folded his speech up once again and held the award to his chest like a lifeline. “Thank you for gifting me this award. I told my husband that I do not feel like I deserve this award. But I will spend every day proving to myself and to others, that I do. That I will always advocate for mental health resources, even when mental illness is not pretty but is sharp and ugly.”
He stepped away from the podium and it was as if the peace in the crowd had snapped as thunderous applause shook at Ilya’s very core. He watched his family stand, others standing around them as they all clapped, cheering racuously for him. Ilya gave them all a strained, small smile before he hurried off of the stage as the emcee started talking once again.
“You did such an amazing job, baby,” Shane said as soon as Ilya had made it to him. Ilya said nothing as he threw himself in Shane’s arms and let out a loud, painful sob. He buried his face in Shane’s shoulder, soaking the man’s suit. “I’m so proud of you, you did everything you said you were going to do and more. You are making such a good difference for people, you’re making a difference for me.”
“I was so nervous,” Ilya stammered out, arms wrapped tight around Shane’s waist. “I thought my heart was going to race out of my chest. I thought I was dying.”
Shane chuckled and kissed his cheek. “That’s just nerves. But no one could even notice. You did such an amazing job.”
“I am ready to go home,” he admitted. He was feeling raw, as if the first layer of his skin had been ripped off and he had been dunked in a vat of lemon juice. He was also exhausted. The kind of bone aching exhaustion he had only ever felt after winning the cup or a grueling practice.
“I figured. I told the others we wouldn’t be going to dinner tonight so they want to get lunch tomorrow to celebrate you,” Shane said, combing his fingers through Ilya’s gelled back curls.
“You are so good to me,” Ilya whined, giving Shane a soft kiss. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too. Let’s go home and maybe I’ll give you a reward for how brave you were,” Shane said with a sly grin.
“Lets go, right now. Is important for my mental health,” Ilya said with the upmost seriousness in his voice. Shane let out a beautiful laugh as he wound his fingers with Ilya’s and led him out of the backstage area. Ilya said nothing as he stared at his husband, at his biggest supporter, the one who reminded him each day that life was worth living. He was so thankful for such a beautiful and wonderful man who made every day so much better.
Life was worth living every day. But Shane made it even better.