Mental health has been something that I (which many people know) am very outspoken about. I've been diagnosed with a mental illness once when I was 5 years old and got diagnosed with another one when I was 14 years old, so I've really never known my life without it. I've been to many hospitals and had 16 surgeries within a year to help me sort of over come what was happening to my brain. I wrote a mental health blog in 2015 (I believe...) that documented my journey and it sparked a lot of positive discussion and people who I haven't talked to in years were messaging me telling me their stories. I recently had a thought come to my mind when I was looking at old pictures of myself: was I more interesting when I was suffering the most? 2015 was my worst year I've ever had. I was broken beyond repair. Yet my artwork was turning out cool, I was very pretty because I always wore makeup, my writing became more poetic, and people were caring about me and asking if I was okay. Part of my brain was telling me to stop living but looking back, I was living the life. Yet, I didn't look deep enough into it: my artwork was actually a little disturbing, my makeup hid my sadness, my writings were only about death, and the worst part of it all was that 98% of the people who asked if I was okay won't talk to me now that I'm better. Do I REALLY want to go back to that place so I could be more "interesting?"
The answer is mostly no. I'm doing a lot better now but I will never be 100%. The reason for the 'mostly' part is because mental illness is apart of me and most of my life I didn't know how to control it so it became who I was. I don't miss it per-say, I'm just trying to find out how to live my life where I can put it on a back burner and not be overrun by it.
I will always want to talk about it, though. Mental health effects so many people yet talking about it is sometimes seen as absurd. I will always remember one time when my family was on vacation when I was admitted into a mental health hospital and need someone to pick me up when I was let out. My mom called my friend who absolutely refuses to acknowledge that mental health is a real thing to see if she could pick me up. My mom says "Megan's in the hospital." And my friend replied with "Oh great. AGAIN?" and said she couldn't pick me up. To this day, it hurts me a little still to know that I was in pain and because she refuses to acknowledge mental illness, she couldn't even DRIVE ME HOME. This is one of the many reasons that Mental Health Awareness Week is so important. To learn. To accept . To listen. You may not be able to fix people. But you can help them.
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