I was always a quiet supporter of anything mental health related. I shared posts or made comments here and there in conversations. I would see a video or hear something that would make my heart ache. It ached because inside I was that someone screaming for help.
I watched friends suffer through self-abuse. I held their hands and sat with them in counseling. I gave advice.
Yet I never took it for myself.
It took me years of tearing myself down, failing at work and school, watching as my fears affected my partner, before I finally sought help. And I am so glad that I did. It was a major step forward.
I made excuse after excuse to get out of counseling. I blamed my busy work schedule, I procrastinated on making an appointment, I hoped someone would understand me and push me to do it.
Really, I was afraid. I was afraid that I would be told nothing was
wrong with me. I was afraid I would be told I was a selfish, lazy, inconsiderate person. I was afraid my fears would be shoved in my face. I was afraid to open up. I was afraid to accept that my brain wasn’t wrong, just different.
There isn’t a right or a wrong when it comes to the human brain. There’s just different. And being different is okay.
It took me a long time to see that.
I still struggle to see that at times.
I still fight with myself, blame myself for having certain thoughts, try to rationalize that everyone is the same. But everyone isn’t the same. And I shouldn’t punish myself because my brain may have unbalanced chemicals while someone else’s might be at a happy equilibrium. I shouldn’t punish myself because I have these deep rooted insecurities that I struggle to overcome. I shouldn’t punish myself when I have a bad day and can’t make it out of bed.
I shouldn’t, but I still do. And that is something I am trying my hardest to work on. Instead of shaming myself, I am trying to uplift myself, even if everything is in the slumps.
That is why I started this blog.
To be honest, I have no idea how to run a blog. Frankly, my writing might be barbaric and the content all over the place. But that’s kind of what it’s supposed to be. It’s supposed to be messy and slightly chaotic, because that is how my brain functions.
I am tired of pretending, of plastering a smile on my face and acting like I am okay. When I’m not okay, I’m not okay.
I want to showcase that.
I want to show how someone who struggles with depression and anxiety falters, makes mistakes, questions themselves.
But also loves themselves.
I want people to see, to learn, to feel.
This blog is like a journal. It may be anonymous, but it is still personal and still completely me.
And even now I am scared to show the world who I am.
My parents say I shouldn’t tie myself to this blog, because prospective employers may find it. My grandmother calls my mother and asks “Did you see their last post?! They shouldn’t share things like that!” My best friend nods along, agreeing keeping things anonymous might be the safest route.
And it makes me bitter.
I’m bitter that I hold myself back because I’m afraid that my mental health will be held against me. I’m bitter that that’s the kind of world we live in. I’m bitter because I know I am not alone in this perpetual state of conflict.
I’m bitter that mental health has a bad reputation.
That future employers may not hire me because I’ve made it public that I have depression and anxiety.
That I may be thought of less than or pitied.
That I may be considered unfit to work because of what afflicts me might affect my or others work ethics.
I’m bitter that society is afraid to accept something that affects so many people.
I know that mental health is becoming a hot topic these days. Cyber bullying, mass shootings, suicides in the LBGTQ community, are all shining light upon a bigger problem.
It saddens me that terrible things have to happen before people will listen. But that is how the world has functioned all these years. That is how history has unfortunately repeated itself over and over.
It’s taken a long time to start the conversation around mental health and the importance of taking care of it. It’s been a topic for decades, been brought up in passing, but never as strong as it is right now.
And I am glad that I am part of its movement.
All I can hope, is that my random, mess of a blog, may help someone else who struggles.
That it may be a beacon of hope.
That it can show the world that I, and others, are not afraid to be ourselves.
That it is alright to be afraid, but to be open about it and accepting of it.
All I can do is hope.