I didn't really believe it at the time, but that little thought and fire stayed in me and as I got better (and then worse, and then a bit better, and then catastrophically worse etc etc), it's become a fighting force within me and glowed stronger and stronger - some kind of adamant, furious determination that yes my mental illnesses could steal my childhood and my life from me, but there was no way in hell I was going to let all the things I was fighting through stop me from using my experiences to speak out and maybe help someone else. The problem was that I always clung onto the little bit of determination that id be able to do something good 'when I got better', or 'one day' - but nearly 10 years down the line, I was realising fearfully more and more every day that I don't know that that day will ever come. I don't remember my life without mental illness, and in all honesty i'm not sure that I ever see myself living free from it in the future either - so slowly I was realising at the back of my mind that 'one day' was never going to come, or if it did, it might be too late - I was going to have to start trying to turn my experiences into something positive NOW. Whilst they were still attacking me every day. And that's freaking terrifying.
The little push I needed to start came from a guy who is now one of my favourite people in the whole world and possibly one of the most inspirational, talented, and unfailingly lovely people on the planet - and I met him for the first time in the hallway of a small theatre. For those of you who don't know him yet - James Rhodes (this guy!!) is a classical pianist in the coolest, most brave and rockstar-esque way imaginable. He's not only insanely talented, but intersperses his pieces with brilliant, honest, funny and sensitive commentary about his own struggles with mental health and the bizarre, comic and fascinating woes of the composers whose work he features. ANYWAY, after seeing him perform at the Arts Theatre in London on a fluke, I went to one of his further gigs where he was doing a meet and greet afterwards (it was a much tinier venue!). In a nervous bundle of gabble, I said something to him which probably made absolutely no sense about how amazing it was hearing him speak out and how much it resonated with me, because as it turned out we had been in psychiatric hospitals at roughly the same time, and how I was basically just overwhelmed with admiration for him and a lot of other fangirl-y embarrassing stuff like that (probably). James, being utterly lovely, treated me like i'd just said one of the most eloquent and genuine sentences in the english language, gave me a hug, and then looked straight at me and told me in the calmest, loveliest voice to never stop talking.
And that was the 'real' real beginning.
Talking about the things that hurt you is hard. That little moment with James that encouraged me to start saying fuck it and trying to unashamedly and truthfully speak out about my experiences with mental health was right at the beginning of my 2nd year of uni. The next week, I went to my university's DAMSA (Disabled and Mental Health Students Association) group on a whim, randomly stood up and ran for a place on their committee, and got it. I started trying to go even when my MH was shit, and helped run their Time to Talk day event that year ft many many cakes and brownies (which was how I met Time to Change!!) - By 3rd year i'd become their secretary, run my own Time to Talk day event for the University, started my first mental health blog (www.theoverthinkingblog.wordpress.com) and started sharing campaigns on social media. I still wasn't exclusively stating that I DID suffer from the mental illnesses I was trying to better on Facebook and Twitter, but I wasn't denying it or shying away from it either, and even something that little is a big step when you're sending posts out to a world of people you actually know. It's a hugely vulnerable feeling, but it's empowering too.
Be First to Post Comment !
Post a Comment