I’m not broken, I’m just a little bent.

Its been a whole year today since I first published a post on The Mighty telling people about my mental illness (which you can read here) and in that time I’ve realised a number of things. One of those is how incredibly hard I have been, and still continue to be on myself and how little self esteem I have.

When I was initially diagnosed with my mental illness, I convinced myself that I was broken. It is a feeling that hasn’t quite gone away and it is a feeling that seems to fluctuate at various times, depending on my head space, what else is going on in my life and what kind of medication I’m on.

Most of the time, I’m still convinced that since my brain isn’t quite as functional everyone else, that makes me different.

Fractured. Fragmented. Not quite right.

And yet everyday I’m trying to come to the terms with the idea that I’m not broken, I’m just a little bent.

I may have scars from where I tried to cut out all the pain and sew myself back together but that doesn’t make me broken.

I may take medication daily to increase my levels of ‘happy hormones’ but that doesn’t make me broken.

There may be an intense and overwhelmingly constant battle in my head between the depression and the anxiety but that doesn’t make me broken.

There may be days where I am incredibly hard on myself because I’m so incredibly unhappy but that doesn’t make me broken.

There may be times where I lack control and feel numb and have panic attacks that I can’t stop but that doesn’t make me broken.

There may be times when it feels like the pressure I put on myself is breaking me but it won’t. It will never break me.

Thinking of myself as broken makes me feel like I’m a piece of china that can’t ever be put back together quite right or used in the same way again. That’s not true – I will eventually be okay. Eventually my brain won’t work against me everyday. This may mean taking medication everyday for the rest of my life or making a regular time to check in with myself but that’s alright.

Sometimes I just really need to remind myself to be gentle. I am ill. I am hurting. I may be a little bent, but I am in no way broken. And I am recovering. I may always be bent, but I will never be broken.

I may not bend back into the shape I once was but that’s also okay. I don’t want to be who I was. I want to be strong and brave and happy which are some of the things my mental illness took away from me. And yet, at the same time, it is all the things recovering forces me to be.

So if you’re suffering from a mental health issue, or heartbreak, or grief – this is a reminder you are not broken, you’re just a little bent. And this pressure is making you stronger than you have ever been before. After all, diamonds are made under the weight of mountains.

-M x

Exhaustion.

There is one overwhelmingly negative aspect to having a mental illness. This is obviously aside from the whole other range of negative things such as the multitude of symptoms of a mental illness, side effects that come from medication and ridiculously emotional therapy sessions. But I digress…

The very worst thing about mental illness is that it is exhausting.

The energy that it takes every day. The energy it takes to survive. The feelings of sadness and worry and that feeling that’s worse than sadness that you can’t quite explain that physically drain you. That anxiety that keeps you on edge and then sends you crashing down from the most euphoric high. The racing heart. The sweaty palms. The brain that can’t stop overthinking everything. The need to control everything and plan and go over every detail again and again. It quite literally takes the life from you.

But the most exhausting part? 

Pretending.

Pretending that none of this is going on. Pretending that your heart isn’t beating a million miles an hour and that you aren’t sweating through another shirt. Pretending that you aren’t thinking about something you said three weeks ago. Pretending that being surrounded by strangers and acquaintances and friends doesn’t terrify you still.  Pretending that you didn’t break down again last night. Pretending that you weren’t on the edge of hurting yourself for the first time in months.

The most exhausting part of mental illness is the mask you put on every single fucking day to hide your real self from the world, and really, to hide from yourself.

It’s a mask made up of so many different elements. It’s the makeup that covers up the sleepless nights because of the nightmares and panic attacks. The smile permanently pasted on your face to hide the fear of not being liked or wanted or loved.

It’s the mask that makes playing pretends so much easier. And for a little while I can trick my own brain into thinking everything is okay.

Playing pretend used to be fun. And now it is a part of my life.

But why should it be? Why do I need to present a perfect, happy, smiling face day in and out? Is it because I’ve been convinced by society that I need to hide things I am ashamed of? But what should I be ashamed of?

I am sick. I have a condition that affects the way my brain works. It might always be there but it does not have to define me. I don’t want to feel ashamed. I don’t want to play pretend. I don’t want to hide behind a mask that has been there for as long as I can remember. I want to feel okay about my mental illness and realise how strong and resilient and fearless it has made me, because if I can get through the darkest moments what is stopping me from getting through everything else? I want everyone else to understand that is okay not to hide and not to pretend and most of all its okay not to be okay.

Most of all I don’t want to be exhausted anymore. Because honestly, I am sick and tired of it.