Author: Aimee Eddy

We all are faced with difficult decisions within our lives. We have to decide on jobs, having a family, what bills to pay, what kind of car to buy, and so on. Sometimes we make the wrong choices, and other times we make very good choices. At times we have to make decisions others don’t agree on, but are the best ones for us. No one can tell us what to choose or how. It’s all in our hands. There are times there is no good decision, just one that will benefit you the most.

Since last month I’ve gone to one appointment after another talking with doctors and specialists about the cancer that invaded my body. I talked with a geneticist about a cancer causing gene called the BRCA. We all have the BRCA gene, but when it becomes mutated, it can cause cancer in the ovaries, breasts, prostate, or skin. My aunt has the mutated gene and they tested me for it. I tested positive.

The geneticist went over my options for having the gene. I could choose to have my breasts removed or be on a high risk watch. I talked with my surgeon, a doctor at the cancer center, and a navigational nurse. All listed the positives and negatives to keeping my breasts or losing them.

I could keep them and get six month checkups and mammograms, but be at high risk to get another cancer. The next cancer could be more aggressive and harder to treat. For the cancer I have I don’t need chemotherapy since it’s in the early stages, but the next one might require chemo and harsher treatments. I’m a worrier and I’d continually worry myself sick each time I’d get a mammogram. Then if they find something, I’d have to go through another biopsy. My chances of getting another cancer would be high.

Then there is my second choice. Have my breasts removed and eliminate the worry. I’d have a 90% chance of not getting cancer again. No more mammograms, no more biopsies, and no more worries. I could choose to go flat chested or have my breasts reconstructed. The hard part would be losing a part of my body and going through a long, painful surgery that would take five hours I’d spend the night in the hospital and have visiting nurses when I’m home. I’d miss a lot of work and would have to find ways to pay our bills.

What a decision to make! How could I make this one? How can I decide to keep or lose part of what defines me as a woman? My breasts are a part of me.

A girl at work said, “Who needs them anyways? They just get in the way.”

She’s right they; can be a pain, but they are mine. When I was going through puberty, I didn’t want them. When they started to grow, I refused to wear a bra. My mom had to tell me to put one on. Through the years I have grown to like them and now I must choose to keep them or lose them. I agonized over this. Lou and I discussed it. We went over my options again and again.

I sat in my room looking at myself, holding them and crying. How would it feel to have fake ones? Would Lou still look at me the same? Would I feel the same about them? Would they just be lifeless things hanging from my chest? The questions swam through my head.

I turned to Lou and asked him how he felt. He said, “I support your choice whatever you make. You’ll be beautiful to me no matter what. Having fake ones will not change a thing.”

My mind went over my options again and again. My muscles tightened, my head began to ache, and I became nauseated. I got sick at a restaurant. I kept thinking, “How can I make this decision? I can’t do this.”

 

I prayed about it and continued to discuss it with Lou. Then the next day I called my surgeon’s nurse with my decision. I will have my breasts removed. That night I woke up several times, my decision swimming in my head. Did I make the right choice? Will I regret this?

I sat down and listed the positives of getting new breasts. No more mammograms, I could get them smaller, no more heat rashes, no more biopsies, no more chances of getting cancer in them, no more sagging, and no more worries. This helped me feel better about my choice.

If you have hard decisions to make, don’t let it drag you into depression or an anxiety attack. Talk to someone about your options. List the positive and negative sides. Weigh each one out equally and make a decision that is best for you. Others will have their own theories on your situation. Everyone has an opinion, but their opinions don’t count. In the end it comes down to what is best for you. Make your choice, stick to it, believe in it, and let it go. Don’t mull it over in your mind and dwell on it.

I made my choice and now I’m waiting for my surgery date with courage and determination that everything will work out for the best. Once I am cancer free Lou says he will throw me a party. I now have something to look forward to and another reason to fight. In time I will stand in the light of recovery from mental illness and cancer.

 

I’m in the process of figuring out what my treatment for my cancer will be. I’ve been overwhelmed with information, paperwork and appointments. So unfortunately I did not get a blog post out this week. I’ll work on one for next week.

Waiting is hard for anyone. People get upset and on edge just waiting in line. I often tell my husband, “Have patience; your turn will come soon.” It’s hard to be patient, especially when you just want to get out of the store or place you are waiting at.

It’s even harder waiting for results from a biopsy. It is so hard that it is emotionally painful. Many thoughts fill your mind, scenarios play out like a movie, and each time your phone rings you jump. You lie awake at night and your nerves become on edge.

I had my biopsy on May 23. The nurse told me I would get a call with the results within two to five business days. Others who had biopsies told me they heard within two days. I hoped I to would hear within two days. I counted the days. Thursday and Friday went by and no phone call. My insides turned inside out and my thoughts raced.

Why haven’t they called? Does no news mean good news? Damn it, ring phone, ring. How will I handle it if it’s cancer? What if I’m home alone when they call? They haven’t called so it has to be good news, right? Oh damn, there’s a holiday on Monday. I’ll have to wait longer for the results. I can’t do this. I can’t be patient. What will I do to keep from worrying about it? How will I make it through a long weekend?

Saturday I went to work like usual. I felt a deep sadness in me. I felt hopeless and lost. The lines at the grocery store where I work were as endless along as my thoughts. I felt an ache deep in my heart. I looked at my boss rushing around. Tears welled up in my eyes. Tell her you need to go home. Tell her you can’t do this right now and you’re not strong enough. Tell her you’re depressed and you think you’re losing control of your mental illness.

Then the positive voice took over. Stop it, Aimee. You can do this. You’re not losing control and you’re not going to let your illness take over. You can handle this.

I swallowed my tears and took a deep breath and muttered, “I am strong and I am a fighter. Whatever the results are, I will handle it and rise above it. Besides I DON’T HAVE CANCER. I’ll keep saying that until my insides stop churning.”

Saturday night I talked to my husband’s cousin. She was positive and reaffirming. Her words were comforting and my anguish lifted a little bit. Then Sunday came. I felt a little bit stronger to handle the day. After work I went to my parents and spent the night so I could participate in the Memorial Day picnic with my Grandma who is in a nursing home. My husband went home because he had to work. I tried hard not to look at my watch and count the hours until bed and another day. I talked with my parents and watched television.

Thoughts nagged at me. Is it cancer? If it’s cancer, will I get very sick? How will Lou and I pay bills if I can’t work? What will happen to me? Lou has loss so many people to cancer, how could I put him through it again? Who’s going to take care of Lou if I’m sick? My chest felt like someone was punching it from the inside. My body ached all over. That night I called Lou before going to sleep. Like usual he told me everything would be ok and stay positive. He told me to journal. So I journaled, “I DON’T HAVE CANCER,” along with all my feelings.

Monday went by pretty well. Grandma wasn’t feeling well so we ended our picnic early and had the nurses put Grandma in bed. Then I sat at my parents’ house relaxing until Lou came. Then Tuesday came and still no results. I became very on edge. The thoughts began to race even more. So after work I journaled and did some coloring in my adult coloring book. I messaged friends to pray I would get an answer the next day. Again I wrote, “I DON’T HAVE CANCER” in my journal.

Wednesday I decided I would call and find out if they got my results. I called at 11:00 a.m., and the nurse told me they had my results and the doctor would call me back. I kept my phone in my hand. I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t miss the call. Lou took me to lunch and we took our dog to get her nails cut. It was 1:00 p.m. and still nothing. We headed to my parents a half hour away so my father could work on my car.

I sat and talked with my mom while Lou helped my dad. 2:00 p.m. came and I called again. The nurse said the doctor was on the phone and he would call me right back. So I glanced at my phone waiting for it to ring. My stomach churned. I had to keep going to the bathroom. Instead of my nerves making me throw up, I had diarrhea. My muscles tensed and my shoulders began to hurt along with my head.

Ring, damn phone. Why aren’t they calling me back? I can’t believe the doctor isn’t calling me. What is taking so long? I’m not mentally strong enough to handle this. I’m going to have a mental break down. I worked so hard to reach recovery from my mental illness and now I’m falling apart.

3:00 p.m. came and still no phone call. I called again and yet again the nurse said the doctor would call me back. I felt so sick that it felt like I had suddenly caught a rare flu. My muscles tensed more and my head began to scream in pain. By 3:30 p.m. the phone finally rang. The words, “You have breast cancer,” filled my ears while tears spilled from my eyes. I couldn’t think straight. I texted Lou to come in the house right away and he rushed in. We cried in each other’s arms.

Now while I wait to find out what my course of treatment will be, I write in my journal, “I WILL BEAT CANCER.” Each day I will work on focusing on the positive and to continuing to maintain my mental health. Because I am in the light of recovery from my mental illness, I know I am strong enough to beat cancer. Taking care of me and being positive will keep me in the light of recovery from mental illness and will lead me to the light of recovery from breast cancer.

 

 

When they called and said they found something on my mammogram, tears filled my eyes. Then I told myself it’s nothing; my mom and sister have fiber cysts so I probably have them. I went to my second mammogram thinking they would find nothing serious. I had nothing to worry about. I just inherited a fiber cyst. It wasn’t until after my second mammogram my heart plummeted. I sat in a chair while the doctor’s words rang through my ears, “We found masses that are highly suspicious. I’m not going to lie to you: there is a high chance of cancer. You’ll need a biopsy.”

Tears poured from my eyes and the words, “High chance of cancer,” played in my mind like a broken record. I cried on my way home and in my husband’s arms at home. My biopsy was scheduled for the following week, which to me seemed liked far away. I had to get through a week. How could I do that? Did I have the strength? Then after the biopsy there would be more waiting for the results.

This had to be a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. It couldn’t be real. God, let me wake up. Do high chances mean I probably have cancer? Would I lose my hair? Would I have to take time off from work? Would I get really sick? I can’t do this. I can’t fight another battle. I’ve faced bullying, I struggled through mental illness, I was a victim to abuse, and I worked my way around a learning disability. I’ve been through enough. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t face another battle.

My insides ached while the days slowly went by. I felt myself sliding down the hole of depression. I grabbed onto the roots of hope and I dangled between the light and darkness. My hands were slipping and the light was fading. My mind raced. I wanted to scream and yell. I wanted to hate God. I wanted to let go and fall to the bottom again, but I couldn’t.

“Think positive. Everything is going to be okay. Whatever it is, we’ll get through this together,” my husband told me.

“It’s nothing. Stop upsetting yourself over nothing,” others told me.

My thoughts went crazy. The doctor said high chance of cancer. Don’t tell me it’s nothing. Don’t tell me not to get upset. I have a right to feel any way I want to. My life is over. I can’t fight another battle. I can’t do my job. I can’t go on.

Then a voice within me said, “You can’t give up. You have overcome so much; why let this ruin what you have worked for? You don’t know its cancer. If it is, you will rise above it.”

I felt the darkness deep in my soul again. I hadn’t felt this sad in a very long time. It was sucking the life out of me and I couldn’t allow it to take over again. Not over a “chance.” It wasn’t a confirmation. It was just a maybe or maybe not.

So I started journaling every day and in my journal I wrote, “I DON’T HAVE CANCER.” I turned to my friends and got in contact with breast cancer survivors. I declared war again on my thoughts. Every time I thought, “I have cancer. I might as well give up,” I changed it to, “I don’t have cancer, and if I do I am strong and I will beat it.”

The darkness started to lift. I asked my friends to put me on the prayer chain at their churches and my husband worked hard to keep me busy, like taking me to baseball games. At night I prayed long and hard.

Wednesday I went through the biopsy. It was long and extremely uncomfortable, but everyone was kind. I wanted to cry during it, but I held back my tears. They took two biopsies using a mammogram. I was there for two and a half hours. I was unable to take my anxiety medication at the normal times. I prayed to God to keep me calm, and I made it through without having an anxiety attack. Afterwards I went home and slept for two hours and cried quietly into my pillow. I cried not out of sadness, but out of relief that this part was finally done.

Now is the waiting for the results part. I’ve decided to continue to write in my journal and still write each day, “I DON’T HAVE CANCER.” I’m going to stay busy until I get the results. A friend sent me small cards with a  Bible verse on each one. So each day I’m going to read them. Faith, strength, and determination will keep me above the hole. If the results are good, Lou and I will celebrate. If I have cancer, I will fight with the same strength I fought my mental illness.

Whatever happens, I am a fighter and I will rise above whatever lies before me. God willing, I will be celebrating when I get the results. Until then, I will fight to stay positive and stay within the light.

 

This week I was unable to write a blog post due to a health concern that has come up. I appreciate prayers. Until next week I’ll leave you with a quote a good friend wrote.

” Everything that happens to you happens for a reason. You need to see the good in the bad, then absorb the good from it. Never repeat the bad act, accept it and move on. Then at the end of the day sit down and focus on the good things and be thankful for them. The good things can be  small as going for a walk and making it home safely or waking up the next day ect. Don’t forget to thank the Lord for showing you life experiences.”

By Karen Robbs

 

 

 

 

Birthdays can be hard for anyone. When you’re young, turning older is exciting, but as you become an adult, getting older seems scary. With another year comes another year to dread. The body begins to age, aches begin to surface, health problems rise, energy levels decrease, and bumps, bulges and sags develop. Many dread their birthdays. It’s easy to get depressed about becoming another year older. For people with mental illness, it’s another day to remind them of their life of darkness; another year they’re living at the bottom of the whole; another year they’re reminded of what a mistake their life is.

I grew up in a big family. My grandma had eight children and twenty-seven grand kids. My grandparents made a big deal out of every holiday and especially birthdays. To them there was no such thing as being too old to celebrate your special day. The family, who lived close by, all gathered together to celebrate. It was like one person’s birthday was a holiday. As a child I couldn’t count on friends showing up to my party, but I always knew my family would be there.

In college when I became depressed, I wanted to cancel my special day. To me it was another reminder that God made a mistake putting me on earth. I couldn’t find joy in moving forward into another year of mental anguish, deep sadness, and endless hopelessness. Why was I even born, anyway? Did God put me on earth to suffer? Why celebrate another year at the bottom of my hole?

My parents refused to let me stop celebrating. We no longer celebrated with my aunts and uncles, but my grandparents still came. My older sister, who was married, came and there were my parents and younger siblings. It was still a big thing to my family. I put on a fake smile while they sang to me, I blew out my candles and made a silent wish and I opened my gift pretending to be excited. Nothing made me feel good inside. Not even the laughter of my family or the love that went into their gifts.

It wasn’t until I reached recovery that I realized why my family made birthdays so special. Birthdays to them were more than just becoming another year older. It was and is a celebration of life, the life God gave us and the blessing of each year we are still on this earth reaching out and touching others’ lives and creating memories. It’s also a way your family can show you how you filled their lives with happiness and how much they love you. It’s celebrating with the friends whose lives you have impacted.

Now that I am in recovery, my birthday is even more special. Why? When I was depressed, I made several attempts on my life. I could have died, yet I never succeeded. I may have never made it another year, but God kept me alive. He wouldn’t give up on me. Now each year is a celebration of being alive and making it another year while still in recovery. It’s a celebration of overcoming the hardest battle of my life and for the chance to live in the light.

Celebrating with family and friends means the world to me. I’m celebrating the life God gave me with the people who mean the most to me. Knowing that people love me and support me despite my flaws is special to me. I’m alive because I fought hard, I’m alive because of my friends and families support and I am alive because I have a purpose to fulfill. God didn’t allow me to die for a reason.

Don’t look at your birthday as another year you’re getting older. Look at it as a celebration of life given to you by God, the life you keep living, and the road to recovery or life within recovery. Even if your soul is dark and the world seems hopeless, think of your birthday as a chance to keep fighting for the light, for a new beginning, and for recovery. Celebrate your birthday with the people you love the most. It doesn’t have to be a big celebration, but celebrate and know there is a reason you’re alive for another year.

Thursday I celebrated my birthday with friends and family. Seventeen people showed up. It was more than a birthday. It was a celebration of my life, a celebration of my recovery, a celebration of all God allowed me to accomplish, and a celebration of the love of friends and family. I may have turned another year older, but I also lived another year in happiness. I thank God for giving me life and keeping me alive even when I didn’t want to live. This year I celebrated not another year older, but another year that I am standing strong and tall within the light.

When you’re suffering with mental illness, it’s hard to see a future; it’s just nearly impossible to see beyond the darkness within. Will the sadness ever end? Is life worth living if all that lies ahead is anguish? Can mentally ill people have a successful future? To the sick person, these questions seem to have one answer, a distorted answer, and that is, “There is no tomorrow or beyond.”

I once believed this. When I was deep in my hole of depression, I could only see the dark side to life, and to my future. In college I felt like I had no reason to live. My future seemed like an endless road into hopelessness, inner anguish, deep sadness, and self-injury. There was no life for me to live. Could a person with so much torment within ever find joy or peace? Could I ever be more than an emotional wreck? To me my answer was, “No.” I was blinded by my own suffering.

I didn’t think I could make it through college. Graduating seemed impossible, let alone having a future beyond college. I had to force myself to get out of bed each morning and to go to class. I got sick every morning and in between classes. At night I lay in bed fighting my racing thoughts. Sleep was impossible. I felt so alone and hopeless. I tried to concentrate during classes while struggling to keep awake.

If I couldn’t concentrate in class or keep awake, how could I ever pass? It was so hard to keep going. I moved back home, an hour from school, when my Mom found out how ill I was. I drove to school each day with my windows open and the radio blasting to stay awake. I thought I could keep forcing myself to go to college despite how depressed I was. I thought if I didn’t, I’d be a failure, yet I felt like I was failing. I kept my grades up, yet I still felt like a failure. Even if I were to graduate, I didn’t have the strength to further my future. Who would want an emotional wreck?

One day I drove to college in a snow storm. Once I arrived, I found out classes were canceled. The storm got so bad, I couldn’t make it home or to my grandparents. The school took me to a shelter. The people were nice, but I started crying and couldn’t stop. I looked at all the people around me who were there because they had no place to go. Would I become one of them? The people tried to console me, but there was nothing they could do. My parents had to come and get me.

That’s when I realized I couldn’t make myself continue any more. Once the semester ended, I decided to take a year off. I told my old high school teacher I took a year off to work and she made it sound like I had given up. That made my future seem even more bleak. Something in me wouldn’t let me give up, though. I went to work at a grocery store. I made many friends and started therapy. The person who only talked when talked to started talking to everyone. The sad negative person started seeing a positive side.

My therapist helped me see my life and future in a good light. She told me to fight those negative thoughts and to change them into positive ones. I started to see a future for myself. I started living for tomorrow and beyond. With therapy and medication I found the light, and in a year I returned to college part time and continued to work on the weekends. In three years I graduated from college with high grades.

Years later I fell back into depression and I ended up in the hospital. After the hospital I struggled to live for tomorrow and beyond. I became determined to fight for recovery. I continued to work at the grocery store. My future wasn’t exactly the way I planned it, but it no longer seemed hopeless.

Look beyond the dark hole. Fight for tomorrow. Climb up the hole. Live for what’s beyond tomorrow. Find the light and strive to live in it. Believe it or not, there is a happy, healthy future out there for you. If you give up, you’ll lose the chance to see what God has in store for you and to find out what recovery feels like.

Because I fought for recovery and lived for tomorrow and beyond, I have an associates degree, I’ve worked the same job for twenty-three years, I’ve been married for eleven years, I’ve written the first draft of my memoir, I write this blog, and I write a blog and quotes for National Internet Safety and Cyber Bullying Task Force. I am also their social media director. I fought for tomorrow and beyond and now I’m looking into the bright light of my future.

 

Mental illness knows no boundaries. It strikes without remorse and drags its victims down into its evil hole of darkness. It does not discriminate. Mental illness doesn’t care what race you are; it doesn’t care about your social standing; it doesn’t care about your background; and it doesn’t care what age you are. Children to seniors can struggle with mental illness. It’s impossible to tell when it will unleash its furry.

It’s hard to tell exactly at what age mental illness took control of my life. I know I was young. My mom told me I was a happy child until I started going to school. School changed me. I was different. I struggled with a learning disability and teachers and classmates thought it meant I was stupid. I think I slowly slid into depression year after year as I faced bullying. Mental illness ran in my family. I think I inherited my illness and the bullying forced it to show its ugliness within me.

The bullying began in first grade. That’s when my self-esteem started declining. I began to question my intelligence. Everyone said I was stupid, but my mom said I was smart. I wanted to believe my mom, but each day my classmates and teachers put me down. Sadness slowly began to seep into my soul.

The sadness grew from year to year, and from year to year I began to believe I was useless and stupid. I began struggling to sleep at night and became scared to face school. I tried to push the feelings behind me. By the time I was a teenager, I couldn’t ignore the feelings within me. I fell deep into a dark hole. Feelings of hopelessness engulfed me. Everything that once made me happy no longer brought me joy. Life was an endless hole I fell down and I couldn’t see any way out of. I cried easily and even the simple things my family said upset me. My brothers’ brotherly teasing angered me and set me off into a fit.

By eighth grade, I fell deeper into my sadness. I wanted so much to call out for help, but I was afraid. I feared no one would understand. I thought my parents wouldn’t care or love me anymore if they knew how badly I hurt. I kept my feelings buried within me. They ate at me and drew me down deeper. I screamed out in anguish, but the screams never parted my lips. It took all my strength to face another day. I often felt like I couldn’t go on and I often imagined what it would be like if I were dead. I imagined scenarios where I was hurt or dead. This became my coping technique.

Mental illness dragged me down into its hole and tortured me. It didn’t care how young I was or that I had loving parents. It knew no boundaries to its torment. The mistake I made is I told no one how I felt, and because I kept my feelings to myself, I hit rock bottom by the time I graduated from school. It wasn’t until I was in college and I started injuring regularly, planning my death, and attempting suicide that I confided in my mom.

Mental illness doesn’t care who it strikes, but if you confide in someone you trust, you can stop it before it leads you down the wrong road. This illness may not have any boundaries, but the sooner you seek help, the sooner you can gain control of it and reach recovery. Whatever age you are, turn to someone one you trust and ask for help. The road to recovery won’t be easy, but the sooner you catch it, the less control it will have on you and recovery will be closer to your reach. The quicker you ask for help, the less time it will take to undo the damage mental illness has done.

It took me into my adult years to ask for help, but once I did, I was able to get the help I needed. I regret not asking for help sooner, but I am glad I did before I succeeded at taking my life. Recovery took years, but I now stand in the light.

Every time there is a mass shooting or a horrific criminal act, the news brings up the mental health history of the person who committed these crime. Television crime dramas also indicate the reason for the killer’s actions is mental illness. In fact, both dramas and news shows hardly ever portray those with mental illness as not dangerous. They never state the facts. Instead they go over and over the fact that a person’s mental illness drove him or her to do such awful things. This places a stigma on all those who have mental illness. People become afraid of those suffering with such an illness when they have no need to.

Carrie Barron M.D in her article, “Mental Illness Does Not Equal Dangerous, Mostly,” at Psychology Today (https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/the-creativity-cure/201509/mental-illness-does-not-equal-dangerous-mostly) states, “Most mentally ill people are not dangerous. In fact, only 3-5% of firearm assaults are linked to people with serious mental illness and those with mental illness are more likely than others to be the victim of a crime.”

In an article called “Gun Violence and Mental Illness: Myths and Evidence-Based Facts” by Joel Miller posted 10-03-2017 13:26, on American Mental Health Counselors Association website (http://www.amhca.org/blogs/joel-miller/2017/10/03/gun-violence-and-mental-illnessmyths-and-evidence-based-facts), Miller states, “People with serious mental illness are rarely violent. Only 3 to 5 percent of all violence, including but not limited to firearm violence, is attributable to serious mental illness. The large majority of gun violence toward others is not caused by mental illness.”

If most people who are suffering from mental illness are only dangerous to themselves, then why is it when a crime is committed, they point out a person’s mental illness? Yes, there are circumstances where a person’s illness is severe, untreated and psychotic enough that they carry out awful crimes, but these are only a small percentage. The majority of those who suffer with such an illness have hurt no one, but themselves. No one seems to mention that on television.

I, a person with mental illness, find it insulting that we are all represented by the few who are dangerous to others. Many people fear treatment because they are afraid society will label them as a danger to all. I’ve faced this stigma myself. I lost friends because they feared I might hurt them. I had a manager where I worked tell me because I have a mental illness I was a danger to customers and employees, yet the only person I ever hurt was myself. Those who know me well know I could never hurt another person, yet I got labeled dangerous because I suffer with a mental illness.

My plea to show producers and news reporters is, “Don’t blame all crimes on those with mental illness, and if it is their illness that drove them to do it, tell the facts. Tell America and the whole world that most people with mental illness are not violent. Encourage those who are not getting help to seek help and they will not be judged.”

It’s up to us who struggle with mental illness to let our voices be heard. Write letters to your news stations, write articles, post blogs, and write to whoever you can think of. Don’t let yourself be labeled as dangerous. Show the world you are not harmful.

I do my part in speaking for those who have mental illness with my blog and other writings. I plan on finding other ways to educate society about those with mental illness. Who is with me? Who is willing to stand up for yourself and all others struggling with mental illness? Who else is sick of being stuck behind the stigma that all with mental illness are dangerous? If you are with me pull out, your pens and computers and start writing. Tell the world and show the world we are good, harmless people. Together we can make a difference.

I proudly teach, encourage and dispel stigma about mental illness with my writing. I plan to let my voice be heard through my blog and much more. Because I’m willing to fight stigma, I stand proudly in a new light, a light of acceptance, of understanding, and of encouragement.