Out of all the changes I have seen in my 32 years - people coming and going, receding hair, expanding waist line - the one constant for me has been mental illness.
I have lived with it for ( and bear with me I have to estimate ) the better part of twenty years. I was formally diagnosed with panic attacks at 15. By 24 I had my first nervous breakdown and by 31 I had my second. I live with clinical depression and the anxiety every day. It's better now - I manage it better than I ever have - but I remember nights with a knife in my hand wondering whether I had the guts to use it.
My episodes are characterised by deep lows. I stop speaking or get aggressive. I don't sleep much and I lose interest in everything I love about this world. Most frequently, I experience bouts of self harm. That's stopped ( thankfully ) of late but I have bit, scratched, burnt, pinched and punched my way into a black hole I wasn't sure I could ever climb out of. One time I punched myself in the side of the head so hard my ears rang. Why? Because I hated myself. And believe me there's nothing sadder than a person who has no love left for themselves.
So you may ask why I wrote this. First of all, it's an insight into who I am and if you have read this far then thank you. Secondly, it's for myself. It's to more fully embrace the SG community, in which many of it's members are themselves mentally ill. This is for them.
I said once before I carry the scars - both mental and physical - of my experience with anxiety and depression.
But you know what? Scars belong to the fighters. Fuck the illness...because every day I am here it's my victory.
Thanks
