flying through clouds of uncertainty on wings of existential dread
September is mental health month/recovery month. Of course, for some of us — lots of us — every day is about mental health and recovery, or trying to get somewhere close to recovery, or just trying to push through the day. Sorry none of these are new cartoons. If you’re not familiar with the silver ribbon, check out the Bloggess. She’s a lot more eloquent than I am.
Just a reminder — we’re taught to feel like everyone has to be strong, all the time, no matter what, and to think that depression is weakness. My father’s a shrink, and I still have to fight that feeling. I don’t like admitting that I’m fragile.
But I keep going. I keep doing. My brain tried its best to kill me and it didn’t win, and if I can stand up to my own brain, surely I can stand up to the rest of the world. The truth is, as much as I worry about what other people think of me far more than I want to, no one can be as cruel to me as I can. No one judges me as harshly or hurts me as deeply as myself, and I can’t give in to that. So I go on and I try to move a little closer to loving myself and I thank goodness for friends and doctors and teachers who have all helped me.
Remember, we’re not weak. We’re brave. We’re amazing. And we can keep going.