Heya, it’s World Mental Health Day, and I pledged to talk about my experiences with mental health to raise awareness and reduce that stigma. Even so, I’m going to keep this short.
I have not put scissors to my skin for a while. That doesn’t mean I’m not tempted – temptation fills me almost every day – but my control over the abuse is returning, and I have faith. My worst times are when the veil falls over my mind; and I cannot concentrate, cannot breathe through the anxiety clustering my chest, without marking my left palm with my right thumbnail.
Not relief – resolve.
Sometimes it’s a need, but it has become more of a decision. Can I overcome this? Yes, I can now. Surprising how the triggers for my depression have softened, almost becoming triggers for manic phases, for internal euphoria that I can never share.
But that took me a while.
When I have been depressed, the crow was my symbol. Robed in black and strutting through life, their pompous hearts were all of which I could think. I think I once had no dress sense and no attention to detail – thank goodness that nowadays my crow-like soul has shrunk, and I can see the beautiful birds for all they are: beautiful birds, and not symbols of a heart in mourning.
Mourning I still am. I’ll be a while, because nobody should expect an overnight recovery from these sorts of smashed and stolen souls. But, with my characters hovering on both shoulders, and new kinds of living on the horizon, I think I have something more for which to live: and hope.
I guess I can say, for the most while, the thoughts have dimmed, and days like these touch my soul; to see organisations raising awareness for the 1-in-4 of the population who have a mental illness/troublement. Having been one of those people, I know how vital it is to feel – and to give – support.
It’s time to talk. It’s time to change.