Good afternoon my loyal following of three,
Yes, I am back from the beyond and after a hiatus of a week (two years) I have decided it’s time to resurrect my blog.
Why, you ask? (Noone asked). Because I am mother fucking b o r e d in this quarantine. And as it happens to be mental health awareness week, I figured this would be a great time for me to reflect on my battles with my own mental health, and see if I can find a way to talk openly about my mind without any horrifying in-person contact.
I have spent many years struggling with who I am. Through my teens I was an utter gobshite with zero regard for anyone’s opinion, but as I ventured into my early twenties I found myself picking apart every atom of my body, my mind and my persona until there was nothing else to look at, or indeed interract with. Looking back now, those years are some of the saddest of my life, and having had chance to reflect on my decline into unrelenting depression and borderline depravity I am horrified.
I can’t pinpoint the exact time I knew my brain wasn’t cooperating with me, but I can say it’s not functioned for many years now, which is an absolute shower of shite. My issues with self deprecation, a need to be wanted and loved by anyone – no matter how shitty they were as a person – and crippling body shame transformed me from a gobby, brassy young girl with reckless abandon into a ghost of a twenty-something with nothing but shame, anxiety and a need for love.
As I came to terms with my issues with mental health, I was slow to embrace the idea that I could get any help. I convinced myself that I was the single most desperately sad person in the world, all while warring with the knowledge that I’ve lived a very privileged life with little to no reason for such wallowing sadness. I come from a loving home, have – albeitly ignorantly – benefited existentially from my racial and class privilege, and have been lucky enough to avoid any noticeable trauma. Admitting that you need help coming from this place of privilege is difficult beyond any words.
In my mid twenties I buried my issues in places they didn’t belong. I submitted to an emotionally abusive relationship which I still can’t talk openly about, I sought friendship – or indeed any kind of connection – in people that had zero regard for my mental and physical wellbeing, and I hid myself from the world behind a few filters and some social media lols. And it worked, for that period of time.
With respect to my family and those closest to me who had to witness what happened next, I’ll not go into it here. Suffice to say the bottom of the rock was smashed in like a bat from Tyson Fury after a few fat keys of gear, and I finally had to admit that I was unrecognisable and unable to fix myself without help.
Depression robs you of who you are. It takes the very soul out of your being. It stole every iota of the person I had loved so relentlessly in my teens.
The past several months have been eye-opening, and my journey with therapy and medication has saved my life, beyond a doubt. I am slowly but surely rediscovering a lust for life that I didn’t know possible, and while I am in no way over the hill and into the (perhaps fictional) place of wellness, I am firmly on the road to recovery.
Reading stories from friends, acquaintances, Tyson Fury (the big dog is getting name dropped left and right here) and public figures, I feel empowered to share my story. I have toyed with speaking on it for a long time, but never at such length. For me this is a great way to stay accountable for who my illness has hurt (me da most hehe), and to remind myself that where I am now is OK. I’m doing fine.
There will be good days and bad, but I hope for anyone who may happen upon this (hi mum, and maybe Tyson Fury) that you’ll have a better understanding of your experiences with me, and maybe a better understanding of the nuanced ways mental illness can change your life. And – finally – I am so so very hopeful that it will add a voice to the mentally ill who feel like they are the only person feeling this way. You are not alone, and neither am I.
This has been cathartic and I’m grateful if you’ve read thus far. PLZ reach out to me or to a qualified professional, or to the Samaritans, if you’re struggling. Help is out there! Ya got this sis!!!!!!
Stay safe and wash ur dutty hands thanks x