Published words have been elusive as of late. I’m not entirely sure why but I have an inkling. I’m feeling good. Not great but good. I’m feeling vulnerable and a little less confident. I’m feeling the weight of the mental health stigma and I’m shying away from putting pen to paper, err rather… fingers to keys. I’ve scribbled many starts in my countless notebooks.
The massive change in diet has given me relief from daily pain. And not feeling physically well triggers instability in my mood. I’ve been more even keel, less extreme. But the ebb and flow is still there. The insecurity is still there. The negative self-talk is still there.
The anonymity that comes with blog readers is a double edge sword. I enjoy being that reader. I don’t enjoy having those readers. I love the reader who interacts. The silent reader makes me suspicious. Who are you? And do you know me personally? If you do, are you the person I feel silently judged by when you say hello. Are you the one who is being suspiciously kind to me because you don’t want to trigger me? Are you pitying me?
It’s the risk we take when we put our name to our work, promote our thoughts within our circles. Sharing helps others feel less alone. Sharing is therapeutic for me. Sharing helps lower the curtain of stigma.
When I started sharing my writing in January, my goal was to help anyone like me feel less alone, to show them that those who live with anxiety and depression are just regular people. That there are a lot of us who suffer ever so silently amongst the crowd. That we put our shoes on one foot at a time like the rest of the shoe-clad world. We don’t want pity. We don’t want judgement.
I’m feeling the stigma. I’m feeling the judgement. I hate that.
I’m going to power through. Even though it’s uncomfortable at times. I’m not going to be silent. I will keep writing.
I am the voice of many.