Mental Illness is no joke. We’ve all heard it before. We’ve heard the catch phrase “Fight the Stigma!” We’ve heard the horror stories, the success stories, and the stories of those who didn’t make it. They make out mental illness to be this war zone. To tell you the truth though,
It’s so much more than that
It’s all the criticisms on the outside, ‘You’re making a mountain out of a mole hill.’ ‘It’s normal to be sad.’ ‘You’re so crazy!’
No shit people….
You try to tell them about the criticizing voices on the inside, the voices you so want to tell yourself are made by you, but you know they aren’t. This isn’t you, you wouldn’t want to degrade, belittle, or lower yourself to the level beneath scum. You, wouldn’t want to die.
It’s the dark parts of you, the dark parts no one really ever talks about.
Why would anyone want to talk about it? No one wants to know, and more so we don’t want to unearth what we all work hard to utterly evict out of our lives.
But, we need to. We need to put it out there, so we can stop clinging to it. For most of us, it’s our familiar. When it’s gone, we slightly freak out but yet we sigh in relief for the sweet silence, and cling to that for a while. It’s a strange paradox those with mental illness live in. No one wants to admit it, but it’s strange to imagine a life where we are in control. We create more ideas to make the darkness go away for a little while, but we never in a completely lit space. We just find temporary light to get us through the rough times.
The dark parts, the teddy bear that’s torn to hell but you don’t want to let go of it, even though it smells like last years Chinese take out, and it’s missing all of it’s buttons because you’ve had it since before you can remember. It’s our familiar, even though it makes us look, and almost feel like crap. It’s a reminder of all that we’ve gone through.
It’s a part of us, even though we wish it weren’t sometimes. Sometimes, it’s a twisted sense of comfort.