I remember the day I started this blog, June 29, 2018. It was short, sweet and talked about how I wasn’t going to lie or hide my depression and other diagnoses. That I was angry about pretending. This was right after I heard Kate Spade killed herself. Her sister, in an interview, said that Kate was too afraid to hurt her brand so she didn’t seek treatment for depression. It still angers me. She had means, she could’ve gotten the best care in the world, but thanks to stigma, she took her life. No judgement intended.
I also recall that I promised myself that anybody I came across, I would share my story so they didn’t have to be alone like I was. At that time, there were blogs about mental illness. I couldn’t talk openly about it. I couldn’t even explain what was going on to my own family. It was scary for me to experience my depression, anxiety and eating disorder all alone.
I was hell bent on talking about everything that was going on in my life, no matter what kind of reaction I received.
But I did. Now if you come to Unruly Neurons, you’ll find 35 pages of blogs over the past 6 years — hundreds of blogs — all about mental illness, including binge eating disorder. I spared no details. And even though I’ve slowed down on blogging, I still feel like these topics are relevant and helpful.
That day in June, I can remember my butt sweating as I pushed “Publish.” I was so nervous to write those words and get it out into the universe that I was mentally ill. And not ashamed of it.
The blog led to my columns at the Caller-Times. I have probably written well over 100 columns, all on my mental illness and my life. Talk about my butt sweating — it was one thing to publish on a unknown blog and another telling the whole city that I had depression, anxiety, an eating disorder, a personality disorder, etc.
I always said that if I help just one person, it was all worth it — the judgement, shame, advice and opinions of those who have never been sick in their life.
Was it worth it? You’re goddamn right it was. And still is.
Through my blog and columns, I had strangers emailing me saying that I gave them hope or that I’d encouraged them to reach out about their illness. Strangers will come up to me in public to thank me for writing my columns. I’m not trying to toot my own horn, but it feels amazing when someone tells you thank your or that you’ve changed their life in some small way.
And then there’s NAMI GCC. My life has improved substantially since I joined them five years ago. They’ve probably kept me out of the hospital and even saved me from killing myself. Without them I would be lost, I know that 100%. And as the leader of NAMI GCC, I don’t get much feedback or praise for what I do — not that it’s required — but I do wonder if the decisions I make on a daily basis are going to improve the quality of someone’s life.
A couple years ago a reporter from WebMD reached out and asked me about my story. I’ve now done three videos with them that highlight being treatment resistant and mental health recovery. I hope those videos reach people. I hope that I’ve given hope to others. [Video links: https://www.webmd.com/depression/video/unmasking-depression & https://www.webmd.com/depression/video/hope-beats-depression]
But now that it has been 6 years since starting, I wonder, “How am I doing?”
Am I as passionate as I was in 2018? What does all this mean? What work have I actually done? What work do I still need to do?
I think that I am as passionate, maybe even more so, but sometimes I can feel lost in my purpose. I would say that I’ve done good work and have earned the right to call it success. I don’t think the work is finished on my part.
That work is changing. NAMI GCC is changing. I’m changing. I want to tackle local and state advocacy. I want to mentor others to share their story and make the most of it — to show them that you can change lives, starting with your own. I want to fundraise more for NAMI GCC. I want NAMI to offer more classes and support groups. I want to get grants for NAMI GCC. I want to the fill gaps in where organizations and health care can’t. I want to help more people. I want everyone to know that they are never alone.
And I can do that. I’m so thankful that I have a platform to do that.
I hope this doesn’t sound narcissistic, but I often think that the reason why I’ve had to endure so much is so I can help others. That my calling is higher.
And even though my depression has taken me to hell and back, I’m still happy to be a vessel.
I can do more. And I want to. Sometimes I just need to remember what I’ve accomplished to know my efforts haven’t been in vain. and that I can do more.
So far, I think I deserve a gold star. Let’s call this a progress report of sorts.
I’m eager to learn what I can do in the next 6 years.
