Why I Want to Talk About My Mental Illness.

Whenever I bring up my mental illness, I usually get one of two reactions. More often than not, I am met with noticeable shifts in body language which signal uncomfortably and sympathetic glances that quickly melt into averted eye contact. In my experience, talking about mental illness can make people extremely uneasy- like it is a taboo subject that should be kept hidden in a box shoved to the back of a closet. This type of response will cause shame and embarrassment to rise in my chest... why does this piece of me make people feel so awkward? These feelings caused me to hide my disorder from the public for nearly 8 years. I felt like a liar, an impostor, a fake shell of a person. I felt unbearably alone in my struggle against depression and anxiety. This is why I often hold my breath when I first share my story with new people. I know that I will be met either with the aforementioned uncomfortably or a reaction that leads to a new connection, deeper and more meaningful than one can imagine. Suffering with mental illness can be so isolating, thus when one meets someone who is struggling with the same thing (or something similar), it can feel like a breath of fresh air. FINALLY- someone who I can talk to without feeling ashamed or judged. Ever since I started sharing my story, I have been blown away by the number of people who have reached out to share their own struggle and offer words of encouragement. I have been touched by the countless individuals who have sent a text or Facebook message to explain that they have been struggling to overcome their own feelings and want advice on how to seek professional help.

This is why I want to talk about my mental illness.

I want the stigma attached to mental illness to transform into support for those who are struggling. This idea that mental illness is something that we should keep hidden and those that are affected should suffer in silence is ridiculous. Approximately 1 in 5 adults experiences mental illness in a given year. THAT IS ALMOST 20% OF OUR FRIENDS, FAMILY MEMBERS, CO-WORKERS, NEIGHBORS. Instead of stigmatizing them, we should be supporting them. Instead of shunning mental illness, we should start conversations about it. Instead of hiding our struggles, we should be sharing our stories.

This is why I want to talk about my mental illness. I want people to know that it is okay to not be okay. I want people to know that you can live a full life, be successful, and have a chronic mental illness. I want to end the stigma associated with mental illness.  I want people to know that they are not alone and there are people who are so willing to help and support them. I want people to ask questions, learn about mental illness, and stop treating my depression/anxiety like a taboo subject.

So lets talk.

This is My Brave.

This Is My Brave, Inc., a 501(c)3 non-profit organization (http://thisismybrave.org) is the leading platform for individuals to share their stories of living successful lives despite a diagnosis of a mental health disorder through artistic expression (spoken word poetry, original music and essay readings) on stage in front of a live audience. We're opening up the conversation about mental health disorders in communities all across the country and beyond via our YouTube channel.

We're shining a light on mental illness because it has been in the dark too long. We're ending mental illness stigma, one story at a time.

"This Is My Brave - the Show" - 2016 Greenville performance

May 5, 2016 The Kroc Center, Greenville SC

Donate to This Is My Brave, Inc. to help us continue to shine a light on mental illness: http://thisismybrave.org/donate/

How's Your Cup?

"You cannot pour from an empty cup. Take care of yourself first."

How fitting for today- I am anxious about the 'This is My Brave' show tomorrow, nervous about my parents visiting this weekend, and sad that so many of my favorite students are graduating next week. All week, my cup has felt bone dry.

And today, as I walked into my office, I was greeted by this little guy: a gift from a co-worker to remind me that my cup needs filling. I need to take care of myself. How's your cup today?

How a Cat Saved My Life.

There are two things that anyone who meets me knows to be true: I am lowkey obsessed with my puppy and I am a very proud crazy cat lady. I'll share more about Minnie the puppy later- she has already had her 5 seconds of fame on this blog. Today is about Addy, my cat and the reason I am still here on this earth. The semester of college right after I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder was the worst of my life. I was in a terrible relationship with a real loser. I was on a highly competitive, world-ranked winterguard team which I never, ever felt good enough for. I stupidly decided to take on way too many credits in school. I had just joined my sorority and wasn't prepared for the time/energy/self commitment. I was struggling to figure out my identity as someone saddled with a mental illness. Essentially, I ran myself into the ground and then decided to dig a little bit deeper- just for good measure.

Somehow in the middle of all this, I found some time to adopt a kitten. I grew up around animals and had convinced myself that if I got a kitten, everything would magically get better. My aunt (another crazy cat lady) took me to the local Humane Society to "look around", knowing fully that I couldn't leave without my own ball of fur. So insert Addy- the cutest, spunkiest kitten you'll ever meet.

Unfortunately, getting a kitten didn't solve all of my problems- shocker, I know. I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into depression, which felt impossible to overcome. I felt like my only out would be taking my own life. Living each day was so hard- all I wanted was some peace. Suicide seemed so serene, like I could finally get some rest.

I planned everything out- I cleaned my apartment so no one would have to bother, figured out my method- something simple and painless, and wrote a goodbye to everyone that I loved. However, there was one problem. I had no idea how long it would take for someone to realize that I wasn't answering my phone or showing up to things. I was worried that Addy would have to go too long without someone giving her food or water. I couldn't be responsible for both of our deaths. So I drove the 45 minutes home to drop Addy off at my parent's house. That is when everything changed.

My mom had come home early from work that day and had already started dinner. My plan to drop off Addy and run was no longer feasible- I had to stay and pretend to be the happy, wonderful daughter and sister my family knew. It was all too much and for the first time in my life, I finally broke down and talked to my mom about what I was feeling. I told her I was so unhappy that I considered suicide. The pain in her eyes was more than I ever wanted to see. I knew I had to find my courage and do whatever it took to get better. I couldn't hurt my family by taking my life- my personal pain would never amount to the pain my death would have caused them.

I started seeing a new therapist the next week.

I will often think back to that day- my decision day where I chose life over death- and think about what would have happened if I had never gotten Addy or didn't care about her well-being. Suicide isn't rational- I'm thankful that it isn't. My concern for a kitten saved my life. So when people reproach me for being a crazy cat lady, I couldn't be more proud. For if it wasn't for a sassy cat and an irrational love, I wouldn't be here today.

Considering suicide? There is help. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is always there to listen- 1 (800) 273-8255.