The billboard reads something like, "If you have cancer, nobody tells you to just get over it," and then lists a Web site to learn about depression, a mental illness about which well-meaning people might say, "Just get over it, exercise more, and eat right."

I recently attended a National Alliance on Mental Illness of Utah press conference asking legislators to maintain funding for the mentally ill. Those who spoke had been touched by the illness — individuals, fathers, mothers, siblings, loved ones. Mental illness had a human face, a community face. As I listened to their stories, they could have been the families of patients suffering from a physical disease, cancer, diabetes or other illnesses. Their responses were the same — they hurt and stand by helplessly wishing they could take away the pain. But unlike a physical illness that may be visible, mental illness is not, and those suffering often do so in silence; not to mention the stigma and stereotypes our society still has about it.

It's a growing problem, exacerbated by our modern society, where we are now more mobile and transient, unlike previous times when parents and family were geographically close by and could help out. The social and emotional ties important for the development and sustenance of meaningful life are vanishing. More people are homeless and jails are overcrowded. At a time when we have become increasingly sophisticated in our ability to diagnose and treat people, resources remain inadequate and many who are ill are left to the street or prisons.

My experience with mental illness started as a college student working with staff to open the psychiatric wards of the Salt Lake VA hospital, long before the modern anti-psychotic drugs. There were vets who had only flashes of reality and then fell into a world of torment by fears known only to them; some were in an acute phase as well as chronically ill. While in the Army, I worked at Walter Reed Hospital with soldiers who came back from the field in their most acute phase of illness, and even dying from physical exhaustion caused by their mental anguish.

While working at a day treatment center for children where autistic and schizophrenic children were in and out of reality, out of control, or withdrew in their own world, I saw the toll it took on their parents, their relationships and the myriad feelings — pain, love, hate, guilt, denial and shame; the apprehension to even go shopping and fearing their child may act out. Parents sometimes wished they had a sign that said, "My child is mentally ill. Please understand."