“It’s all in your mind.” We know.
Everything got worse before it got better.
Last year, when I felt the beginning of my all-too-familiar seasonal depression trying to make its way into my home like an uninvited distant relative, I decided something needed to change. So, I just said “fuck it.” I threw open my door and invited that bitch in to make some Christmas cookies.
Thank you for your willingness to learn what I need when I feel particularly anxious and to respect boundaries.
And maybe for one moment you aren’t that girl with depression. Maybe in that instant you don’t feel so empty.
I want us to actually get to a point where mental illness in the Black community isn’t a shock or a surprise to anyone at all. I want us to get to a point where it is simply viewed an overall health issue.
I’m not going anywhere.
You are not Bipolar Disorder I, you are human. You are so very human that you wouldn’t even believe.
You are impatient with those you love.
In hindsight, balancing those two separate lives during my battle with mental illness was more draining and painful than any of the actual effects from it. That entire time, I thought I deserved the exhaustion, and that no one would understand, but the truth is that I actually needed all the help I could have gotten.