Even though sometimes it feels like longer, I have only been writing about my mental illness for about a year now. I started writing about it at the recommendation of one of my professors. It has saved my life.
For the longest time I wasn’t open about my mental health with anyone. I was even an expert at lying and closing myself off to my therapists (pro tip: DON’T DO THAT). When it was first suggested to me that I write about myself I laughed uncomfortably and said no one would be interested in my life. I was terrified. Why would I write about myself when I am so good at not telling anyone what is wrong with me?
Writing about myself is by far the hardest writing I have ever done. Writing about my mental health is even worse. Words come on their own time and don’t give a damn if I have pages due. Some days, I can write about the darkest parts of my depression. Other days, I will write 10 pages about my cats. I wish that was a lie, I almost turn that in for workshop one week.
(Note, I only have two cats…. for now)
While it has been the hardest writing to get out, it has been the best and most important writing I have ever done. Even if my writing is only ever read by me, I know it is the first stop to talking about my struggles and opening up to people. Writing about my mental health is helping me be okay with my mental illnesses. At the end of the day, that is really all I want.